Magic of the Season
by JamesLuver
Summary: Modern AU. If there was one thing John hated, it was the passing of Halloween.


**A/N:** This year, my Banna Secret Santa gift is for the lovely **Banna-nannas**. Merry Christmas! I hope you enjoy. :)

For the rest of you, whether you celebrate the holidays or not, I hope you've had a wonderful day.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own _Downton Abbey_.

* * *

 _Magic of the Season_

 _Lights_

If there was one thing John hated, it was the passing of Halloween. Almost as soon as the day celebrating all things spooky had passed, there was an eruption of gaudy monikers heralding the imminent arrival of the most dreaded holiday of the year. Shops were quick to throw up the ostentatious decorations, garish Christmas trees, and over-the-top centrepieces. Christmas music blared out from every doorway that he passed on his walk down the high street at dinner, the same twenty songs on repeat, only a few of them vaguely enjoyable, all completely overused. TV advert after TV advert advertised Christmas presents and Christmas food and Christmas cheer. It was enough to drive him mad. Worst of all, no one else shared his dislike of the season, and he was forced to endure happy chatter about the upcoming festivities wherever he went. It seemed that once November came, people lost all art of conversation.

The biggest offender was his best friend, Anna. She was Christmas personified. She absolutely adored every gimmick, every tradition. She lit up like a Christmas tree at the mere mention of the festivities, and had careful plans for every stage of the holidays. John was sure that if she could, she'd leave the bloody decorations up year-round.

The strange thing about Anna was that no matter how irritated he got with the godawful cheer, especially where Robert Crawley, his other best friend, was concerned, he could never be cross with her. Whenever she got into full flow, he simply shouldered the merriment with grumpy good grace.

Well, okay, perhaps it wasn't strange. After all, he found her enchanting.

He loved her.

He loved every single thing about her. It was impossible not to. Anna was one of those rare creatures, with integrity and kindness and grace. She radiated joy, and simply being in her presence could lift a burden off anyone. She lived to help people, and greeted everyone with a smile, no matter who they were or how they felt about her. If John was sentimental, or willing to extend a nod to the holiday season, he'd call her an angel.

So instead of turning away and tuning out the droning conversations about Christmas, he found himself hanging on to her every word, indulging her love of the season despite his own hatred. In turn, Anna recognised his despondency and was always quick to tease him about it, never taking offence that he didn't show the enthusiasm that she would have liked him to.

It was yet another thing to love about her.

On this particular morning, however, his patience was wearing thin. Anna was staring at him with those puppy-dog eyes—something he suspected that she knew he couldn't resist—and waiting expectantly for an answer. To give himself something to do, he took a deliberately long swig of his tea, clutching the mug between both of his hands as if it would protect him.

"It's not even December yet," he pointed out when he could stall no longer.

"So? Lots of people decorate their houses early. The longer I can have them up, the better!"

"Is there no one else who can help you? You've got lots of friends."

"None of them are as tall as you. Please, John. Please help me."

No doubt some cynics would say that it was tragic that he could never say no to her. But that was part of Anna's charm. She could have anyone eating out of her hand in five minutes flat.

"Oh, bloody hell," he grumbled now. "Fine, yes, I'll help you hang the bloody lights outside. Happy?"

"Delighted," she squealed, swooping in to engulf him in a bear hug. The motion took him completely by surprise, and he almost spilled the remains of his tea as she squeezed him enthusiastically. It wasn't that Anna didn't show him affection, but he was unused to such overt, grand gestures. Normally she would brush his arm briefly, shoot him one of those brilliantly sunny smiles that made him feel warm all over, but she was restrained in her actions. Having her that close to him, the alluring smell of her perfume and her hair wafting into his nostrils, was almost enough to break him. She smelled so good. He wanted to wind his arms around her and hold her there forever, breathing in the comforting scent of her skin.

The hug lasted barely more than a few seconds, and before he could kick his sluggish brain into gear she'd bounced back, beaming.

"You really are the best," she said.

"Don't I know it," he grumbled, taking another swig of tea to hide his sudden fluster. He was quite sure that he was glowing like a beacon. Anna, however, gave no indication of noticing, already turning her attention back to the list of chores to complete over the weekend, ticking them off with her fingers. John was glad that she didn't seem to require his participation in her monologue, because it meant that he had the chance to gather himself. Work was just about to start, and the last thing he needed was for his head to be all over the place just because Anna had given him a bloody _hug_.

Robert would tell him that he really, really needed to get laid.

He dragged himself back to the moment with great effort, downing the rest of his drink and mentally pulling himself together. He _was_ being stupid. He'd faced bullets, for God's sake, had cheated death by the skin of his teeth with the cost of the full use of his right leg, and here he was, shaking like a leaf because Anna had hugged him. He needed to get a grip. He was a grown man.

Something must have been showing on his face, however, because Anna did stop now.

"Don't look so gloomy," she quipped. "I'll make it worth your while, I promise." There was a slightly flirtatious edge to her smile, and it did nothing to abate the fluttering in his chest. Such words conjured up imaginings that he had no right to have, of Anna leaning in closer to him once more, of him having just a moment to register just how near she was before her mouth was on his…

He cleared his throat, pushing himself to his feet before his treacherous imagination could get him into any trouble. It was wrong, he told himself sternly. It was wrong to think of Anna like that. She was his best friend. A good woman. The _best_ woman. She deserved someone young and untarnished, who would be able to give her all the things she needed. He was not the right man for her, and never would be. It was foolish of him to even idly think anything else. Being with her would ruin her life. He couldn't tie them together, no matter how much he might want to. Prison, alcoholism, a disability, all of it would work against him, and tarnish her in turn. What would her family say? Her friends? No, it was better that he never had to find out.

Thankfully, the clock on the wall chimed, signalling that it was time to start another day of work. Grateful for the distraction, John swiped his mug up to take to his desk.

"I'll see you at dinner," he told her.

"Save me a seat?" she said.

"Of course." As if he would do anything else. They spent every dinner time together when they could—sometimes Anna felt duty-bound to go with Mary, who grumbled and pouted when she wasn't the centre of everyone else's world—and that golden half hour was always the highlight of his day.

Spending any sort of time with Anna was always the highlight of his day.

"See you later," he said. "Don't work too hard." With that, he left her standing there, gathering up her last few things.

However, he'd barely made it halfway across the empty room before she caught up to him, reaching out to touch his forearm and stopping him dead in his tracks. Frowning, he glanced down at her small hand on his arm, ignoring the treacherous little voice in the back of his head that whispered how right it felt there, and then up at her.

"What's wrong?" he asked her, thoroughly expecting her to tell him that he'd forgotten something.

He was half-right; Anna leaned up on her tiptoes, so close to his cheek that he felt her warm breath against him. It sent tingles shooting straight down his spine.

"Nothing's wrong," she whispered. "I just wanted to say thank you again."

And with that she pressed a kiss to his cheek. Just like in his fantasies, John barely had a chance to register the action before she'd slipped around him and disappeared through the staffroom door, leaving him gobsmacked in her wake. Without thinking, he raised his left hand to his cheek, touching the spot that her lips had brushed. His skin burned hot where she'd touched him, like a brand. Another way that she had marked him as hers completely.

 _Anna had kissed him_.

It was the only thought that his brain could register.

It brought more disquiet than he could possibly articulate.

Now it seemed that whether he wanted to or not, he would spend the rest of the morning distracted after all.

* * *

Saturday dawned dark and cold.

John woke abruptly at his usual time. Groaning, he rolled over onto his back, pressing his forearm over his eyes and squeezing them tightly shut. For the first time in a long time, he didn't want it to be the weekend.

For the first time since meeting her, he didn't want to spend time with Anna.

It was a dangerous game he was playing. He thought that he'd be able to keep a lid on his feelings, keep his public image and private emotions compartmentalised. It was something he had perfected, after all; being in the army, facing death every day, made it easier to dissociate from difficult things.

But the week he'd just had all but proved that it was an impossibility.

All he'd been able to think about was the bloody kiss. A bloody kiss to the _cheek_ of all things. It could hardly be called the height of passion. It couldn't even be interpreted as more than a friendly gesture. And yet here he was, being a complete and utter _idiot_ because he had let himself get in too deep, hadn't checked himself the way that he should have.

It was going to be so, so difficult to keep pretending that he didn't feel the things that he felt.

Even so, he had to try. He had to try his damnedest. For her sake. For his own.

Sighing, he forced himself out of bed. He wasn't due at Anna's until midday—she made no secret of wanting to stay in bed as long as possible at the weekend—but he had always been an early riser and saw no point in vegetating in bed. He had a long, hot shower, allowing the water to soothe away the aches in his knee after another night of sleeping in one position. The muscles always seized up early in the day, and it would take a little while for them to loosen up. Hopefully that would happen before he had to go to Anna's. He had no desire for her to see him as the lame duck that he was. She did remarkably well at never passing comment on his limp, but he was sure that it would ignite pity in her heart if she saw him limping worse than usual.

Once he was ready for the day, he pottered about the house, making sure that everything was pristine. That was one of the only good things that had come out of his army days—he did a bloody good job of keeping the house tidy. Most bachelors living alone would take a more relaxed approach, but here everything had its place and John hated to see even a single speck of dust. No doubt that was also in part down to having a fierce Irish mother, who would rap him on the knuckles if she caught him making a mess of the house. She'd ruled the family domain with an iron fist, just the two of them against the whole world, and she had instilled a rigid sense of pride in him. Hell, when he'd moved back in with her after he'd split from Vera, she'd not changed at all. Her eyesight might have been failing slightly, but that only meant that she cleaned more vigorously than ever, determined to pick up every speck of dust that she might not be able to see.

He wished he could put off the inevitable forever, but unfortunately noon came flying to meet him. There was no shirking his responsibilities, so with a heavy heart he texted Anna to let her know that he was on his way, and set off for her rented home. It was a little two-bedroomed house on the outskirts of town, slightly rundown, but it was all she could afford for the time being. It had its own kind of charm, and he knew she worked incredibly hard to keep it looking nice.

He could drive there if he wanted, and be there within five minutes, but his knee was still feeling very sore and he knew that forcing it behind the wheel would only aggravate it. No, the best thing this morning would be to enjoy the walk. Neither was ideal, if he was being honest with himself, but even taking a taxi wouldn't help because he'd still be cramming his knee into a position it wasn't ready for. He'd just have to take it steady.

Unfortunately, the walk only meant that he had more time to brood on what was to come and how he was supposed to keep himself together when his feelings were growing for her with every day that passed. She was a perceptive woman; she prided herself on knowing exactly what she needed to be to each individual she came across. John had seen her in action several times before, and he'd marvelled at how well she read any situation she was thrust into. It was only a matter of time before she figured out what was wrong with him, and that would be the ultimate shame. She'd probably start to think that he was only interested in her as a friend because he hoped that one day he might be able to get into her knickers. That couldn't be farther from the truth, but he knew that men of the twenty-first century hardly did a sterling job of being good people, and so he wouldn't blame her for jumping to that conclusion.

And what if she decided that she couldn't be his friend anymore, that being around someone who had feelings for her was too awkward? He wanted desperately to stay in her life, in whatever capacity that might be, and it would destroy him to lose her friendship.

Worse than that…what if…what if she felt something too?

Perhaps it was arrogant to even think it. He was hardly boyfriend material. Most women wouldn't look twice at him, never mind someone like Anna, who had the world at her fingertips.

But she had kissed him on the cheek at work just a few days ago, stepping beyond anything they had ever exchanged before.

And if that was indeed the case, it would make things even harder. Put him in temptation's path. Make him the bastard. Because if he'd learned anything about Anna over the two years that he'd known her, it was that she led with her heart, leaping into things with no care for safety. He was the one who would have to maintain reason, even if it broke her heart to do so.

Christ, he'd hate himself if he ever hurt her like that.

And yet he'd have no choice in the matter. It was better that she have a broken heart now so that she had time to heal and move on. It was too late for him. He'd had his best days and there was nothing more for him to give.

By the time he reached Anna's house, he'd worked himself into quite the miserable state. He half-wished that he'd taken the car after all. A painful knee would be a fair substitute for a painful heart.

Anna tsked when she opened the door to him. "Goodness, John, why the long face? Are you really dreading putting the lights up for me that much?"

"Something like that," he muttered, brushing past her into the hallway. It didn't help that she looked as beautiful as ever, with her hair falling down around her shoulders in golden waves, a thick, chunky jumper swamping her frame to combat the cold. It drove him wild when she wore loose clothes like that, because his thoughts always inevitably strayed to what it might be like if he saw her wearing _his_.

Which really wasn't a helpful thought right now, when he was feeling as depressed and anxious as he was.

"Do you want a cup of tea before we start?" Anna enquired as she closed the door behind him. "You're looking a bit peaky, actually. You're not coming down with anything, are you?"

"I'm fine," he said, trying his best to put on a smile. "Honestly, there's nothing to worry about."

"Easier said than done. I always worry about you, John Bates."

It would be better for the both of them if she didn't.

John pushed the thought away, thrusting his hands into his pockets. "As for the cup of tea, I'm fine for now. I'd better get started. There are a few things I need to crack on with myself this afternoon, so the quicker I start the better."

Anna looked disappointed, but she quickly shook it off. "Oh, okay. Everything's through here. Follow me."

John kicked off his shoes and obeyed. The front room was small and cosy. There was a large pile stacked in one corner—no doubt all of her Christmas trinkets. He waited whilst she rummaged around through the multitude of boxes until she found what she was looking for, straightening up with a triumphant sound.

"Here we are," she announced. "The outside lights."

She bounded across to him and thrust the box into his left arm. It wobbled precariously for a moment, but he was glad that Anna had done it; it meant that she hadn't given his leg a second thought. He hitched the box more securely into his arms and adjusted his grip on his cane.

"If you want to head outside, I'll be with you in a moment," she chirped. "I'll fetch the other things for you."

With that she disappeared, leaving John with no choice but to do as she'd said. The air was chilly and he lamented the fact that he couldn't work in gloves as he prised the box open. The lights were exactly the kind that he'd expected Anna to have; cute and a little garish, gingerbread men and reindeer and robins. They didn't seem to mesh together properly, but that was Anna to a tee. She didn't like conventional.

A few minutes later she joined him outside, struggling with a pair of stepladders. John leapt into action at once, hurrying forward to assist her.

"I'm fine," she panted, waving him away. "I'm stronger than I look."

"I don't doubt that," he said. "But I'm old-fashioned. I believe in helping a lady out when I see her struggling."

"I'm not a lady and I don't pretend to be," she said, setting the ladders down with a huff.

"You are a lady to me, and I never knew a finer one." The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. Anna blinked at him, and he clamped his mouth shut. Christ. He was an _idiot_. What a stupid thing to say to her. He wanted to keep his feelings tightly under wraps, but that would never happen if he continued to let his mouth run away with him. It would strain their friendship, make her feel uncomfortable.

Maybe even give her the wrong idea about what she could expect.

She cleared her throat now. John couldn't fail to see the pink tinge to her cheeks. "Anyway, here are the ladders. I don't like the idea of you climbing them, though."

He waved a dismissive hand. "I'll be fine. They're not high. I've braved greater dangers than this before."

"I know you have. Doesn't mean I like to think of them."

"I survived it all, didn't I?" he countered with a sardonic smile. He might have survived, but he hadn't come out of any of it as alive as he'd once been. It was a long, long time since he'd last felt alive. He was a tragic Greek hero, forever condemned to walk the line between the living and the dead, never able to be with the person he longed for most of all.

Oblivious to his thoughts, Anna said, "Fine. I'll hold them steady for you."

John nodded his assent, and they worked together in companiable silence. He was a decent handyman—had had to learn how to be the man of the house from a young age—and in no time at all he was stringing the lights up, careful in his construction as he made sure that each one hung just so. Even with the ladders Anna would have struggled to do this for herself, and despite his inner turmoil he was glad that he could be of some use to her.

When the last light was fixed painstakingly in place, John slid down from the ladders, standing back to survey his handiwork. His knee was sore one again from being locked in one position for so long, but he ignored it.

"There," he said. "What do you think?"

Anna's face was shining with glee. "I think they look great! Let me just go and light them up, make sure they all work."

"They bloody better do now," he grumbled good-naturedly.

She picked up the plug and skipped to the outside electricity box, plugging it in. Instantly, the whole row lit up, twinkling and flashing invitingly even though it was the middle of the day. The array of colours was eye-catching, and the look of sheer delight on Anna's face as she soaked up the sight was one of the greatest things he had ever seen. He'd never seen her looking so beautiful.

"They're perfect," she breathed, turning to look at him. Her eyes were dancing, and the lights flickered across her face, highlighting her cheekbones and the line of her jaw. In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to close the distance between them himself and trace those patterns across her face with his lips.

But he couldn't. Clearing his throat, he took a step back, thrusting his hands into his pockets. "I'm glad they're as good as you imagined them to be."

"They are," she said. "Thank you so much for helping, John."

"You're welcome," he said. "Anytime." That, at least, was true. He'd do anything for her if she asked it of him.

"Are you sure I can't tempt you inside for a cup of tea?" she asked him. "It'd warm you back up."

He wanted so badly to say yes. He wanted to sit with her in the front room with a cup of tea and a plate of biscuits—she never failed to provide that—with the hissing of the fire the only discernible sound. That was yet another thing he loved about their friendship. They did not always need words; they were not compelled to fill the silences. They could exist separately in the same space, drawing comfort from each other's presence.

But to do that now would be dangerous, when there were so many things swirling around inside him. Any misstep could lead to an unprecedented situation. It could lead to something that he so desperately didn't want—so desperately _did_ want—to happen.

So he forced a smile that did not quite feel natural.

"I'd better not," he said. "I've got lots to do, like I said."

"I understand," she said softly, though he detected a trace of disappointment in her tone. It would be better for both of them if he ignored that.

"I'll see you Monday," he offered.

"Of course you will," she said. "Travel safe, John. Text me later?"

"Of course," he promised. "Bye, Anna."

He left her there, standing with her arms wrapped around herself. At the corner, he turned back and allowed himself one last look at her, shaded by the twinkling Christmas lights. For a moment, he allowed himself to dream of what it would be like to be hers.

Shaking his head, he turned away and carried on up the street. Dreams were for fools.

* * *

 _Scarf_

Mid-week, Anna sent him a text.

 _Hey, you_ , it said. _Missed you at work earlier today. How'd the meeting go?_

 _Fine_ , he responded. _Robert thinks it's a done deal._ He'd been forced to sit at a godawful lunch and schmooze the other businessmen who had sat about talking and laughing, drunk on their own power. It wasn't his most comfortable environment, but Robert had been as charming as ever; by the end of it, everyone had been eating out of his hand.

 _That's good to hear,_ was Anna's response, followed by a swift change of tact. _Are you busy tomorrow evening?_

 _No,_ he typed, frowning slightly. While it wasn't unusual for him to spend time with Anna outside of work, it was usually planned a little more in advance, and they rarely chose to do something in the week, tired as they were by their jobs. _Why, what's up?_

The next text that came through contained a link. He opened it. It took him to the local newspaper site, an article advertising the annual light switch on in the town centre. Some Z-list star was slated to be there to do the honours. John had never heard of them, but apparently they had starred in some terrible pseudo-reality show.

His tone went off again, indicating another received message. He flipped back to the conversation with Anna.

 _Please come with me!_ she'd written, accompanied by a long list of smiling emoticons. John rolled his eyes, feeling his own reluctant smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

 _I don't know,_ he responded, determined to drag her pleading on for a little longer. _You know I hate Christmas._

 _You're the Grinch personified,_ she replied. _But I am determined to share the Christmas cheer. I really want you to come with me._

 _What about Mary?_

 _I want you._

He stared at those three little words. They rattled around in his skull like poisoned darts, and just as deadly. He spent his days in a miasma of confusion, not sure what he wanted anymore. Was he selfish enough to hope that she might feel something for him? He just didn't know. Either way, it made him a bastard, and there was nothing harder to live with than false hope.

For either of them.

 _I might ruin the experience for you_ , he typed at last, after agonising deliberation. _I'd hate to do that._

Her response, by contrast, was instantaneous. _You couldn't ruin anything._

What could he say to that? To deny her again would be to insult her. If she wanted him to go with her, who was he to reject her? Spending time with her was the thing he loved most in the world, and regardless of how he felt about her, he didn't want to lose that close bond.

 _Fine,_ he typed back. _You win._

 _Don't I always?_ she quipped cheekily, and he laughed. Yeah, she always did.

John had offered to drive so that they could go together, and Anna had accepted immediately. So the following evening found him sitting in his car outside Anna's home, waiting for her to appear. She was usually on her last legs, so her absence now was no surprise. He smiled to himself.

She barrelled out of the door five minutes later, looking flushed and harried.

"I'm so sorry!" she gasped as she slammed the door behind her. "I didn't realise the time!"

"When do you ever?" he teased, reversing the car out of her driveway, back out onto the cul-de-sac.

"You're not supposed to agree with me!" she said indignantly, socking him gently on the shoulder. He laughed, his heart already swelling in his chest.

"Are you sure you're going to be warm enough?" he asked, craning his neck to ensure it was safe to pull back onto the main road.

"I'll be fine," she said, glancing down at herself.

"It's been deceptively cold today," he argued. "We've got time to go back if you'd like."

Anna shook her head. "We'll miss the start if we do. It'll be bad enough as it is trying to get a space. I'll be fine."

John made an unconvinced sound in the back of his throat. She looked very nice—gorgeous in fact—but the woollen dress and little coat would do little to protect her against the bitter chill in the night air as the temperatures dropped still further. He himself had dressed in his thickest jumper, his heaviest coat, and his trusty scarf. There was nothing better than a scarf, in his humble opinion. It always generated so much heat, deceptive for its size and placement. It was about time he bought a new one, really, but it had been hand knitted by his mother many years ago and he was loath to replace something that meant so much to him.

They finally arrived in the town centre. As Anna had predicted, the carpark was packed. Evidently more people than he'd thought had been drawn out by the promise of this wannabe celebrity. They cruised around a couple of times, searching in vain for somewhere to park, before Anna spotted a space secreted away. It was a tight fit, but John was used to manoeuvring in tight spaces thanks to his experience driving in the army, and soon they were making their way down the cobbled streets towards the gathering.

Anna frowned. "Damn. We should have got here sooner. We've got a rubbish view."

"I can see," said John.

She poked him in the ribs. "We're not all as tall as you, Mr. Bates. All I can see are people's backs."

That was true. Anna was almost a foot shorter than he was, and she spent most of her time craning her neck to look at things. From the back of the crowd, she had absolutely no hope of seeing any of the action. That was a shame. This wasn't something that he was particularly interested in, but he knew that she had been looking forward to it and he didn't like to think that she'd be leaving here disappointed.

"All right," he said, making a snap decision, "take my hand."

Anna's eyes widened. "What?"

He could feel the heat rising in his face, but did his best to keep his voice level. "Take my hand. I'll see if I can get us a better view. Just follow my lead."

For a moment, time seemed to stand still, and John wondered if Anna would take him up on the offer or not. His heart beat wildly in his chest as he stood there motionless, trying to steel himself for rejection. It was stupid, really. It was _dangerous_. He had never held Anna's hand in their two years of friendship, and he was terrified of what would happen if he did now. Was terrified that he wouldn't be able to get the texture of her skin out of his head. Was terrified that he would be branded forevermore with the feel of her hand moulded around his. It was something that he shouldn't be making a big deal about.

But he couldn't disguise the longing in his heart.

And after that moment's hesitation, Anna reached out through the space between them and gently twined their fingers together.

It was heaven. Better than he ever could have imagined.

Her hand was small, cold, slightly calloused. It fit so perfectly into his that it took his breath away, like the final missing piece of a puzzle. Her palm pressed snugly against his, and the strength in her fingers belied their delicacy. She had a lovely grip, one that was nurturing rather than suffocating.

He never wanted to let her go.

"John? Are you okay?"

Anna's worried voice broke through his disjointed thoughts, and he realised that he hadn't moved at all, was simply staring down at their joined hands like a statue. Clearing his throat, he took a step forward, trying to put a little distance between their bodies.

"Yeah," he said. "Come on." He tugged on her gently, encouraging her to follow him.

It wasn't easy to muscle his way through the crowd. He wasn't a small man, tall and broad as he was, but it didn't mean that people were any more inclined to move for him, and he had to be careful not to catch his cane as he shouldered his way forward; it wouldn't do to land flat on his face, especially since he no longer had a spare hand to break a fall. He didn't want to send Anna flying with him, either.

At last, he managed to reach a much more respectable position near the front of the crowd. He ignored the grumblings he heard from around him at his cheek—he distinctly heard someone mutter that because he was an invalid it was giving him an inflated sense of his own importance. Thankfully, Anna didn't seem to have heard, for she was gazing, enraptured, up at the erected platform where the unknown celebrity was scheduled to appear at any moment. If she _had_ heard, he had no doubt that she would have sprung into protective action, calling out those who had made such misguided comments. She was not the sort of person who would let something like that lie. These days, he was accustomed to hearing it, and was big and ugly enough to take it on the chin. It was never nice, hearing people whispering that he must be a benefit fraud, but sadly it was something that he had come to expect from today's society. Open-mindedness and generosity of spirit, especially from hs own generation, was a rarity.

Now that they'd come to a stop, there was no need to hold Anna's hand any longer, so he reluctantly began to pull away. Before he could get very far, however, Anna tightened her grip on him. He glanced down at her, confused.

She didn't even bother looking at him as she said, "Can I hold your hand for just a little longer? My hand is freezing and you're keeping it warm." She'd thrust the other one into the pocket of her coat. "Don't say, 'I told you so'. I know I should have brought my gloves. I'm paying the price now."

John wasn't sure he could form words past the lump in his throat anyway. "Okay."

It was so, so wrong. He was playing with fire, and he was going to end up disfigured, charred beyond anything he recognised. He had spent years rigid in his code of honour, determined never to stray from the life of solitude he had constructed for himself. He had told himself that he could handle being Anna's friend and nothing more.

And yet here he was, unable to let go of her hand. Bloody, _bloody_ fool.

Neither of them spoke after that, jostled closer together by the crowd around them. A few kids were getting cranky at the long wait, and John idled away the time by eavesdropping on the conversations around him, constructing whole lives for them. It was the curse of having a writer's soul, he supposed. It had proven to be a decent distraction from his own sordid mistakes in the past.

At last, there was a scuffling sound from the stage and several people climbed up on to it. At once, a raucous cheer rose from the crowd, broken by a fierce round of applause. John shifted his weight slightly. Wow, this guy really was popular.

"Thank you, thank you," said one of the men onstage, raising a withered hand as if saluting them all. He was evidently some kind of town official. "It's a great honour to see so many of you here tonight to celebrate the start of the Christmas period. I appreciate you taking time out of your busy schedules."

Like people were interested in anything other than the Z-list celebrity, John thought sardonically. Downton had little else going for it these days, with rising unemployment and more and more shutdowns. It was hardly the thriving community it had been a hundred years before. People were desperate these days for any kind of symbol of hope, even if that came in the form of someone who was famous for sleeping with a hundred different women. The bar was set pretty low, all things considered.

"Without further ado," the official droned, "I'd like to introduce you all to our star guest…!"

John tuned out the rest of the words. It was the same thing no matter the location, a generic speech rolled out across the celebrity class. How honoured they were to be there. What a wonderful place it was. What a place to celebrate, to be proud of. It went on for far longer than John could bear, and he was on the verge of wondering how the hell he could alleviate the beginnings of cramp in his right knee without drawing attention to himself when the Z-lister made some final comments and finally flicked the switch.

More cheers and whoops rang out, as the high street was illuminated in an array of colours. Beside him, Anna squealed, rising up on her tiptoes to get an even better look.

"Look, John!" she enthused. "Look how beautiful it is!"

Despite his general apathy to the season, there was no denying that the twinkling lights _did_ look inviting. It was made all the more beautiful by the look of sheer delight on Anna's face. In that moment, watching the specks of light reflecting in her blue eyes, he knew that he'd made the right decision by coming along with her.

Now that the lights had been officially opened, people were free to wander around and marvel at them all. The crowd pushed and surged around them, but Anna remained rooted to the spot, still clutching tight at his hand.

"Let them move on a little first," she told him. "We won't be able to enjoy them properly if we're still blocked by the crowd."

"Sure," said John, grateful to be able to shift his weight now that he wasn't squashed in like a sardine.

They waited for a little while, Anna beginning to shiver in the cold, before they deemed that the crowds had dispersed enough to warrant their own trek. At that point Anna's hand slipped free of his, and he felt the loss of her warmth keenly. Still, there was no excuse he could use to keep her hand there, and he told himself that it was the best thing all round.

It wasn't as bad as he'd feared it would be. Whilst the lights on display were no match for the ones that they had in affluent cities, they weren't terrible, and John enjoyed looking at them more than he'd thought he would. They certainly captured the spirit of Christmas, with dancing snowmen, flying reindeer, singing robins, angels, waving penguins. Children laughed and pointed, adults oohed and aahed.

Anna was no exception. The huge smile hadn't left her face for an instant, and she insisted on stopping to peer up at each one like an artist might study a masterpiece. John personally didn't see much beauty there, but Anna's enthusiasm was infectious, and despite his dislike of the holiday season, he found that he was as enchanted by her as she was of the display.

Before too long, however, they had reached the outskirts of the town centre and the end of the Christmas lights. Anna's cheeks were rosy with the cold, and she was shivering slightly, but she was still smiling, too.

"That was wonderful," she sighed. "I'm so glad you agreed to come with me."

"You're welcome," said John.

"I know you don't enjoy this kind of thing, so it really does mean a lot to me that you came anyway."

He shot her a sideways glance as they began retracing their footsteps, dodging those who were still coming through. "It wasn't as bad as all that, actually."

She giggled. "You don't have to lie for me, Mr. Bates, but I appreciate it all the same."

"I'm not lying," he protested mildly. "You always make things more fun than I think they're going to be."

"Charming," she teased. "You need to work on your compliments." But she moved just a touch closer to his side, close enough that their sleeves brushed. John swallowed hard.

They walked on, leaving the chatter and crowds behind. The hour was not yet late, but they'd both had early starts and so by silent agreement they trudged on towards the carpark. It would be nice to get inside, in the warmth. He might even indulge in a hot chocolate on an evening like this. John allowed his fantasies of a welcoming hearth to carry him along. The temperature had dipped even further, and even with his numerous layers he was freezing.

It was then that he realised that beside him Anna was also shivering. He stopped, reaching out to touch her arm.

"Are you all right?" he asked her, concerned.

Her smile hadn't dimmed a watt. "I'm okay, John, really."

"I wish you'd put something warmer on. I don't want you coming down with a cold."

"I'm made of stronger stuff than that."

"You caught a cold in the summer," he pointed out. It had been a pretty bad one at that, too. She'd come in to work puffy-eyed and snotty, until she'd been forced to go home by Elsie Hughes. She was not the kind of woman to take time off lightly, hating idle hands, and he had felt her loss keenly for the week that she hadn't been there with him; it had made it so much harder than usual to put up with Thomas Barrow and Sarah O'Brien's harsh, snide comments.

He'd popped round to her house one day after work, staunchly telling himself that it was just to check on her, armed with chicken soup, crusty bread, and a warm flask of tea, and even as ill as she'd been, with her braided, tousled hair, watery eyes, and red nose, she'd still been the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He'd wanted nothing more than to take her into his arms.

Instead he'd settled for waiting on her hand and foot, slathering her bread with more butter than was good for anyone and fussing round like a mother hen. She certainly didn't seem to mind that, curling up on the sofa with a multitude of blankets, a sleepy smile on her face. It felt so domestic that it had made his heart ache; he'd retuned home that night to his empty space and felt the melancholy seeping into his bones like a winter chill.

"I'll be fine," she repeated now. "Honestly, don't worry about me, Mr. Bates."

But he did worry about her, and he was struck with inspiration. Pausing, he began to unravel the scarf from around his neck. Anna stopped a few paces in front of him, turning to him with a frown.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Here," he said, "take this for a little while. It's not going to do a world of good, but it'll be better than nothing."

"I couldn't possibly," she protested. "What about you?"

"I've got plenty of other layers," he pointed out. "Going without this one isn't going to kill me. Take it, Anna, please, if only to make me feel better."

She eyed him for a moment longer before capitulating with a sigh, taking the scarf into her hands and winding it around her neck. He would have loved to have completed the action for himself, but standing that close to her would have sent him teetering perilously close to dangerous territory, and he wasn't sure that he would have been able to contain himself having her so close to him.

"Thank you," she said softly.

His throat was dry all over again; she looked gorgeous, wearing something of his. "You're welcome."

They resumed walking, John determinedly keeping his gaze away from her. At last they reached his car, and they slid in. John set the engine going, turning on the heaters to blast out cold air that eventually began to warm as they trundled back across town.

Before long they were pulling to a stop on Anna's estate. John pulled the handbrake on as Anna lifted her hands to her throat.

Realising that she was about to unwind the scarf, John said quickly, "Keep it. I have others."

"Don't be silly," she argued. "I know which scarf this is, John, and I know how much it means to you."

"I don't mind you having it."

"No, absolutely not. I'm not taking something that means a great deal to you."

"I don't want you to get cold."

"I'm not cold now. I'll put the heating on as soon as I get inside."

"Well, keep it until Monday," he said, not willing to relent entirely. "You can give it me back at work."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely. I think that's a fair compromise. You'll still be returning it but I'll also have the peace of mind that you were warm while your heating gets going."

A slight smile twisted her lips. "You're impossible sometimes. All right, Mr. Bates, we have ourselves an accord." She held out her hand in a mock-solemn pact. He reached out and clasped her hand, giving it a firm shake, trying not to concentrate on the way that her fingers wrapped around his. It would be a very long time before his skin stopped tingling, he knew.

"Great," he said. "I'll see you Monday, Anna. Thank you for inviting me tonight."

"Thank you for saying yes. Have a good weekend, John."

"I will."

"Text me when you get home, okay?"

"I promise."

With one last lingering look, Anna groped for the door handle and squeezed herself out. He idled the car in the driveway until Anna had disappeared into her house, shutting out the world with one final wave.

He returned to his cold, empty home, heavy-hearted. He'd been given a brief taste of heaven tonight, and reality was cruel.

* * *

The following morning came around far too quickly. Still weary, John nevertheless dragged himself into work and collapsed into one of the seats in the break room, dreading the arrival of eight o'clock and the start of the working day. He was halfway down his first cup of tea when Anna barrelled into the near-empty room, flushed and flustered. She clocked him at once and hurried over to him, unwinding something from her neck. With a pang, he realised that it was his scarf.

"Here you are," she panted, thrusting it into his hands. "I almost forgot it on the way out, had to wrap it around my neck so that I didn't leave it in the car. Hope you don't mind."

"Of course not," he said automatically. Christ, as if he could ever mind. He placed it over his coat, resisting the urge to bring it up to his nose.

"Great," she said, smiling brightly. "Thanks again, John. I really appreciate it."

"No problem," he said.

At that moment, the clock chimed, signalling the start of another day at work. Anna groaned, running her fingers through her hair.

"I didn't even have time for a cup of tea," she said.

"How about I make you one and bring it through?" he said.

"Would you do that for me?"

"Being Robert's friend has its perks. I'm sure Thomas will have something to say about me shirking my duties, but it'll be worth it if you can have a drink."

"You're an angel, John Bates."

"I don't know about that."

"Oh, you are. Thank you."

"You're welcome," he said, and watched as she hurried out of the room with the rest of the staff. He pushed himself to his feet and began the task. The smile she gave him when he brought it through to her warmed his heart and carried him through the gruelling hours that followed.

When it was time to go home, he slung on his thick coat and twined the scarf around his neck. At once the scent of her perfume engulfed his senses, and despite himself John breathed in deeply, allowing it to fill him up. She always smelled beautiful, but it was even more potent having it wrapped around him like this, a comfort blanket he had craved. He never wanted it to fade.

That night he dreamed of Anna's hair fanning over him as her body curled around his, her head a heavy, reassuring weight against his chest.

He awoke in the morning feeling lonelier than ever.

* * *

 _Invitation_

"You're coming round to mine on Christmas Day," said Anna, plonking herself down in the chair beside him without so much as a greeting.

John lowered the newspaper he was reading, raising an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"Christmas Day," Anna repeated. "You're coming to mine."

He blinked at her, stunned into silence. Anna was always forthright, but this went beyond her normal matter-of-factness.

"Aren't you going to Mary's?" he asked at last, unable to think of any other response.

Anna rolled her eyes. "Where have you been for the last few weeks? Mary and Matthew are away this year. I thought Robert might have told you that."

"I think Robert is grateful for the chance to _not_ talk about his daughters," said John. All three of the Crawley girls ran rings around their father, leaving him quite exhausted and bemused.

"Well, Robert and Cora were kind enough to extend an invitation to me even without Mary being there, but I politely declined. And I know that you get invited there every year, but I wondered if you'd like to come to me instead. Your mum's invited too, of course. I know that you wouldn't go anywhere without her, and I love her too."

Hearing her say those words made his heart jump. She loved his mother. That meant more to him than he could possibly say. They'd always got on, he knew that. On the occasions where they had been together, he'd often been the butt of their jokes, the two of them ganging up against him to get him to do something that he didn't really want to do but found himself not minding because it was _them_ who were forcing him into it.

He knew that his mother thought the world of Anna; she thought that she was a wonderful woman. She thought that she would be perfect for him, and spent most of her time pecking at him, demanding to know why he hadn't made a move yet. It was the one point of contention in their relationship, because he knew better than anyone that bringing Anna into his life in a romantic sense was a bad idea. His refusal to admit that he had feelings for her, or do anything about it, was a great source of frustration for his mother.

"I don't know what to say," John said now, because he _didn't_. He knew that Anna had a fraught relationship with her own family—she had never gone into the details about it, but he knew that it had started to fray after the death of her father. It was sad that someone as warm and sunny as Anna was did not have an easy relationship with her family. Whatever had gone wrong there, he knew that it was none of Anna's doing. She was far too kind for that.

"There's nothing to say," said Anna decisively. "You're coming and that's flat."

"I couldn't possibly expect you to do all the cooking."

"I don't mind, I'd enjoy it. And if you really feel so guilty about it, you can help me. We'll have fun. Please say yes?"

What choice did he have? He knew that he'd have some serious explaining to do to Robert, who would expect him to go along there like he did every year, but the temptation of spending the day with Anna, even with his mother's knowing looks burning into the back of him, was too great to resist.

"All right," he found himself saying. "That's sounds wonderful. Thank you."

Anna beamed at him, setting his heart alight. Reaching out, she squeezed his hand. It was a fleeting movement, over before he could even register it, but it left his skin tingling as if she'd branded him.

"Great," she said. "Let me know if you have any food requests and I'll get it sorted."

"I couldn't possibly expect that," he protested.

"John, you're not expecting. I'm offering. Stop being so silly. I'm going to do three courses to make it a bit more special. What soup does she like?"

"You could burn the whole thing and Mother would still declare it the best thing she'd ever tasted because you were the one who'd done it. She thinks the world of you, you know that."

There was no denying the look of pure joy on Anna's face at those words. "I just want everything to be perfect, that's all."

"Everything will be perfect," he reassured her. "I know you. You won't stand for anything less. And in this case I happen to concur with my mother. Whatever you do, I'll enjoy it."

Anna flushed a deeper shade of scarlet at that, and he allowed himself a moment of guilty, selfish enjoyment at the rosy tint to her skin before she stood up, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear self-consciously.

"Right, that's settled, then," she babbled, and he was touched to hear the shyness in her tone. "I'll start planning."

"And let me know how much it costs. I'll give you half the money towards it."

"Don't be silly!" she said. "I wanted to invite you because you're my friend, not to split the bill."

"And I refuse to come for free knowing that you've gone to all the trouble and expense for us. Halving it is fair."

"You're too much of a gentleman, John Bates."

"Isn't that why you like me?" he joked, but his breath caught in his throat at the look in Anna's eyes as she gazed at him. It was disconcerting, as if she was analysing something that he couldn't hope to hide.

"Yeah," she said softly, "it is." As suddenly as the gentle intimacy in her tone appeared, it went again, and she was back to normal, business-like. "This is going to be the best Christmas ever, I know it."

And as frightening as it was to admit it to himself, John couldn't help but agree.

* * *

 _Eggnog_

The annual Christmas party was never John's idea of fun. He hated the drinking, he hated the dancing, he hated being forced to socialise with people who under normal circumstances he couldn't have been paid to spend his spare time with. The Christmas season had not softened his feelings towards Thomas Barrow and Sarah O'Brien, and the same was felt in return. It would take a bloody miracle to ever get them seeing eye-to-eye.

In fairness to him, there wasn't much fun to be had here for a recovering alcoholic. The drinking just reminded him of the poor choices he had made in the years leading up to this moment, and it was difficult to be distracted from that when the people surrounding him were barely coherent enough to string two words together. Just the smell of it now turned his stomach, made his head ache and his hands itch. That itch, that needling little temptation, never really left an alcoholic, no matter how long the years of sobriety. It was why he never chose to put himself in that path again, electing to give gatherings like this a wide berth whenever he could. He was fortunate enough that the people in his life were usually sensitive to his struggles and tried not to drink too often in front of him. It was the same thoughtfulness that had forced him here tonight, for he could not expect them to make the sacrifice for him and then he not make it in return.

The one shining spot in all of this was Anna. It was yet another excuse to spend time with her in a social environment, and he could never turn that down.

Not that he'd actually spent that much time with her tonight, in all honesty. She was a social butterfly, and loved flitting about at events like these, ensuring that no one was left feeling isolated. It was yet another reason why she was such a wonderful woman, unlike any that he'd ever met before.

Currently she was sitting on the other side of the room with Beryl Patmore and Elsie Hughes, having a good giggle about something. Despite himself, John felt a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. It was a balm to his soul to see her uninhibited and having fun.

"Oi, Bates, what are you staring at?"

Starting, John turned to find that Robert had sidled up beside him. His best friend was looking decidedly worse for wear, his face sheened with sweat, his clothes crumpled, his face red from his weapon of choice, whiskey. His eyes had taken on the glazed look of someone well on their way to being merry; no doubt he wouldn't remember any of this in the morning. If Cora found him in this state, she'd be more than exasperated. The doctors had advised that he cut back on his drinking a little for his health, and the compromise had been that he could have a little more during the Christmas period. Clearly abstaining for a period had completely ruined his tolerance for the stuff.

"I'm not staring at anything," John said hastily, tearing his gaze away from Anna.

Robert gave him a lop-sided, drink-soaked smirk. "Y'were. Saw you. Was it our Anna?"

"No," he said forcefully, feeling the tell-tale prick of shame at the back of his skull nevertheless.

"'T'was," said Robert. "I know you fancy her. S'obvious."

"It's no such thing," John growled, "because it's not true. We're good friends. It _is_ possible to be friends with someone of the opposite sex without it having to mean anything more."

"Course it's possible," said Robert. "Just not in this case."

"I'm not having this conversation with you when you're drunk."

"'M'not drunk. Just had a couple. You speak the truth when you're drunk, anyway."

John rolled his eyes. "I wish you talked sense when you were sober, too."

"Aha! So you _are_ admitting that I'm speaking sense now."

"Bloody hell, no, I'm not. Am I going to have to fetch Cora?"

Robert's expression changed at once. "You wouldn't do that to me."

"Wouldn't I?" John said lightly.

"You saved my life once."

"Sometimes I wonder why."

"Bastard." Robert aimed for socking him on the shoulder but missed entirely; whiskey sloshed from his glass all over the floor. "Don't give me away to Cora."

"She's going to see you at some point or another tonight."

"Won't," said Robert, sounding like a petulant child. "'M'gonna fool her."

"You're not going to fool her. You are, however, a complete fool. Honestly, Rob, I can't believe you've got yourself into this state."

"And I can't believe you got yourself into _that_ state. You're in _lurrrve_ , Bates."

"Jesus Christ, keep your voice down," John hissed, glancing frantically around. The last thing he needed was for Thomas or O'Brien to catch wind of what they were talking about. The gossip would be around the whole place in five seconds flat. It was bad enough battling with his own internal conflict without external pressures added to that.

"See? You know I'm speaking the truth." Robert hiccupped, swaying on the spot.

"Speaking the truth about what?"

John's heart sank; in his distraction, he hadn't seen Anna approaching. Well, great. Why did she have to choose _now_ of all times, when he was combating a Robert who was loose-tongued and reckless?

His friend squinted, evidently trying to bring his gaze into focus. "Ah, Anna! We were just talking about you!"

"Were you?" she said, shooting him a quizzical look.

John scowled. "No, we weren't. Robert here has had too much to drink."

"I can see that," said Anna. There was a ghost of a smile playing about her mouth. "I think I saw Cora heading this way, actually."

Robert paled. "What?"

"Yeah, I'm sure I heard her saying that she wanted another drink. I think she'll be joining us any second now."

"Gonna go to the gents'," Robert muttered at once. "Not avoiding her, y'know. Just…just need that thing."

"The toilet?" Anna offered, fighting back a giggle.

"Yeah. Yeah, that. Not avoiding her, though. Don't tell her where I am."

"Okay." Anna mock-saluted, and John leaned against the bar as Robert turned on his heel and attempted to weave his way through the crowd, staggering into a group of young men discussing the congested football fixtures over the Christmas period.

"You are a life-saver," he said without turning to look at her.

Anna moved to mirror him, propping herself up against the bar too. "I thought you looked like you needed rescuing. How long does that buy you?"

"Oh, probably a good half an hour. He'll want to make sure that Cora's gone before he comes back out. Knowing Rob, he'll fall asleep on the bloody toilet anyway."

Anna snorted. "Oh, God. He's going to feel that in the morning."

"He's going to feel Cora's wrath, too. So he'll be feeling doubly sorry for himself." Privately, John felt that he deserved it for being such an arse about Anna tonight. Hopefully he wouldn't remember any of that in the morning and life could resume as normal.

"What about you?"

"What about me?" said John, making a show of signalling for the bartender.

"Well, are you okay?"

"Why would I not be?"

Anna shrugged. "You looked like you were in the middle of a pretty intense discussion when I came up, that's all."

"Not really. Can I have another Coke, please?" he added to the server.

"And an eggnog for me," Anna chipped in.

"Sure," said the bartender, sounding pained that he had more work to do.

"Eggnog?" said John when he was out of earshot.

"What? It's festive," said Anna, shrugging.

"It's a crime against humanity, that's what it is. Even as a raging alcoholic, it was something that I couldn't stomach."

"Mr. Bates," she scolded him, the affection in her tone undermining her exasperation. "The whole _point_ of Christmas is drinking too much eggnog. I mean, I know you can't _now_ , but you should applaud me for getting into the Christmas spirit."

"You don't need eggnog to get into the Christmas spirit," he grumbled. "You're always bloody in it."

She snorted. "Well, what can I say? Guilty as charged."

"Are you having fun, anyway?" he asked, keen to steer the conversation away from insobriety and any line that might lead back to Robert.

"Yeah, I am," said Anna, thanking the bartender as he returned with their drinks. "Mrs. Hughes and Mrs. Patmore were telling me some funny stories."

"I thought they were. I saw you laughing." Too late, John realised that that implied he'd been watching her, as he had been, as Robert had accused him of.

If Anna thought anything of it, she did not voice it. "They were telling me something about Mr. Carson."

"Colour me intrigued," said John, seizing the change in topic gratefully. "Are you able to share?"

"Only because I can trust you with my life. They were saying that he's had to go home because he drank too much eggnog and started to serenade Mrs. Hughes."

John almost spat out the mouthful of drink he'd just taken. "What?"

"It's true!" Anna said, descending into peals of laughter once more. "Apparently he started singing bleedin' Mariah Carey at her!"

"Christ alive," John murmured, snorting himself. He couldn't help it. The image was simply too funny. Charles Carson, singing at Elsie Hughes? "What happened?"

"He stopped as soon as he realised that Mrs. Patmore was laughing at him," said Anna, wiping at her eyes, where tears of mirth had sprung. "Apparently he was mortified and that was when he decided that he had to go home. I think Mrs. Hughes will try and sort it out with him in the morning once he's sobered up, but it must have bruised his ego horribly to have them both laughing at him. I just can't imagine him ever allowing himself to get that drunk in the first place!"

"We're only human after all," John mused. "I hope Mrs. Hughes goes to check on him sooner rather than later. I've a feeling he'll be trying to drown himself in the shower."

"Don't say that!" said Anna, clasping a hand to her mouth. It was one thing that they disagreed on, his gallows humour. Coming so perilously close to dying himself had left him with a numbed sense of his own mortality; in a way, he supposed it was a defense mechanism against what he had been through. Some people didn't understand that, or didn't particularly agree with it. Those were the people who didn't understand the motivations behind it. Anna, on the other hand, simply didn't like to think about him dying or being hurt. He could accept that.

"You know what Mr. Carson is like, though," he said. "He'd never have you believe that he was anything other than the image of propriety at all times. If this gets out with Thomas or O'Brien it'd ruin him."

"Well, I know Mrs. Hughes and Mrs. Patmore won't spread it about, and I trust _you_ with it, so hopefully that won't happen," said Anna. "Poor man. I feel bad for laughing now."

John shrugged. "It does us all good to be laughed at sometimes. I've been the butt of many jokes." These days, he was the butt of mostly insults. He struggled to cope with those worst of all because most of them were things that he'd thought about himself. Hearing them articulated only made the feelings keener.

"We'll have to treat him like a god for a month so that he feels better," said Anna, her lips twitching.

"I'm afraid it will change the way we think of him."

"Then we mustn't let it."

"Oh, but it will. Mr. Carson _serenading_ Mrs. Hughes with _All I Want For Christmas is You_?"

Anna descended into fits of laughter again, and John couldn't help but follow suit, her joy contagious. He supposed he ought to feel bad for laughing at his superior's expense, but they did not mean it maliciously, as others would, and oftentimes it felt like he had so little to laugh about that he seized hold of anything he could. In this moment, laughing with Anna, all of his troubles seemed so inconsequential. This was all that mattered. Having fun. Enjoying himself. Not dwelling on things that could not be altered.

As if reading his thoughts, Anna stated, "Dance with me." No frills. No embarrassment. No shying away. She looked him square in the eye.

Even so, the words took John aback. "What?"

"Dance with me."

"Where the hell has that come from?"

"The eggnog, probably," she said, holding up her now-empty glass in a toast. "Dutch courage and all of that. Come on, it'll be fun."

"I can't dance," he said, indicating his cane.

"Neither can I," she said. "I'm not asking you to do the Quickstep, just sway a little. Even you can manage that, Mr. Bates. Are you really going to turn me down?"

"Are you sure there aren't other people you'd rather be dancing with?"

Anna shook her head. "I've had offers coming out of my ears and I accepted plenty of them. This one is my choice."

There was that inference again. He was her choice. He didn't know how that made him feel. Terrified, on most levels. It was teetering towards dangerous territory once more.

But this was a night filled with possibilities and surreal occurrences. Mr. Carson had serenaded Mrs. Hughes, and he could share a dance with Anna.

"Since you know I can't deny you anything, I'm going to have to accept, aren't I?" he said, resigned to downing the rest of his drink.

"That was the plan," she remarked, winking. "Are you ready?"

"No," he said, but he took her proffered hand anyway, leaving his cane leaning against the bar. He didn't know if it would still be there when he returned—it would be exactly the sort of nasty opportunity that Thomas or O'Brien were waiting for—but right now it was the last thing he cared about. All that mattered was the feel of Anna's fingers twined around his own. It was the second time in as many weeks that this had happened, and he was frightened that it was a sign.

He still didn't pull away.

From wine comes truth, Robert had said. Anna was far from drunk, but he wondered if there was some truth in that tonight as she looked at him with eggnog-softened affection, a hundred possibilities flecked in the blue of her irises.

John wrapped his arms around her waist and decided that that was something he should worry about at a later date. Live in the moment. Enjoy each one if he could. And, despite everything that told him that this was wrong, this was a moment to savour indeed, having Anna snug in his arms, her hair gilded by the flashing lights overhead, her warm body pressed to his.

As the lilting, crooning voice of Bing Crosby sang of a White Christmas, he wished that this was a moment he could live in forever.

He wondered, as he drank in the affection in Anna's expression, if she was feeling the same thing. If they were two lovers who were being held apart by circumstance, like a present day Romeo and Juliet, unable to escape the burden of the past.

 _May all your days be merry and bright_ , Crosby sang, and John closed his eyes, resting his cheek against Anna's head. For this one moment in time, he could be at peace.

* * *

 _Resolution_

For the entire day, his mother had driven him up the wall.

It had been inevitable, of course, he'd known that. But it still hadn't made it any easier to handle. She'd spent the entire time giving them knowing, significant looks, making snide little asides about how cosy everything was. Anna had been good enough not to comment on it, but God only knew what she was thinking.

Now that the dinner things had been cleared away— _how domesticated!_ his mother had commented slyly—they were gathered in the living room with the twinkling Christmas lights and the television. Anna's home looked like a replica of Santa's grotto, with trinkets clustered everywhere. In someone else's house, it would look too much, but John found himself enchanted by it all despite himself. Anna's joy of the season was clearly having some effect on him.

They spent the afternoon watching terrible television. The good stuff was always saved until later, but at least this gave them the opportunity to talk, to enjoy one another's company.

John dozed off during the soaps and woke for the annual episode of that bloody awful period drama that his mother was obsessed with. It was another ridiculously melodramatic episode, filled with runaway servants and silver thieves, making it seem more like an old fashioned Bonnie and Clyde than anything else.

When it was over, his mother wiped at her eyes.

"That was beautiful," she pronounced.

"Was it?" John raised a sceptical eyebrow. "I thought it was a load of rubbish."

"That's because you wouldn't know romance if it came along and hit you in the face."

"I can be romantic," John grumbled.

His mother scoffed. "That's news to me. Why are you still single then, laddo, eh? You can't be much good at any of the romance stuff otherwise you'd have a girl by now."

Anna tilted her head towards him. He determinedly avoided her gaze. "I've told you, I'm not interested. I want the single life."

"Stuff and nonsense," his mother proclaimed. "He's in denial, Anna, m'darlin'."

"Is he?" said Anna nonchalantly, picking at a thread in her Christmas jumper. It was a bloody awful thing, covered in candy canes and holly.

"And what about you? Do _you_ like romance?" his mother continued.

"I think every girl likes romance," she answered carefully.

"See!" his mother said triumphantly, as if that settled it. "Anna likes romance!"

"Well, hopefully one day she'll find the right man to share that with," he muttered, heaving himself up from his seat. "I need a smoke."

With that, he left the room, grateful for the respite. He couldn't even bring himself to be too concerned about what his mother might be weaving in his absence. He prolonged the inevitable return inside for as long as possible, despite the freezing temperatures that were making him shiver, smoking his cigarette right down to the butt before rinsing it under the outside tap and throwing it in the bin. Taking one last lungful of cold air, he dragged himself back inside.

He was surprised to find his mother missing when he returned.

"Where's Mother?" he asked, throwing himself back down into the armchair.

Anna glanced up from the television. "She said she wasn't feeling well. I've sent her up to bed. The spare room is always made up with clean sheets."

"She was fine before I went out."

"These things can just creep up on you, I suppose," Anna said lightly.

"Bullshit." John glowered. "She's done this on purpose. No doubt you've told her that she can stay the night?"

Anna twisted her hands together. "Well, I'm hardly going to turn her out when she's ill, am I?"

"Which is exactly what she knew you'd do."

"I think you're being a bit harsh with her."

"I'm not," he snapped. All day she'd been swiping little digs at him, and now she'd gone and openly made a fool of him. Anna was no idiot; she'd know exactly what his mother was hoping for, what with all that talk earlier about romance. He loved his mother dearly, but she could be so bloody selfish sometimes. Why didn't she think of him, and what it would be like for him having to see Anna every day knowing that they both knew the humiliation he had suffered? If only he'd turned down Anna's invitation. This never would have happened then.

"Don't worry, I don't mind," Anna said innocently. "It _is_ getting a bit late to be going home now. Why don't you take my bed and I can sleep here on the sofa?"

"Out of the question," he said through gritted teeth.

"Why?"

Because how would he survive a single minute wrapped up in Anna's sheets, her smell everywhere on him? Just the merest hint of her perfume sent him wild; he'd never know a moment's peace again if she was everywhere on him.

"It's not fair to you," he settled for at last. "This is your house. We can't push you out of that."

"I don't care. I've slept on the sofa before. Besides, _you_ can't sleep on it. You're far too big. It'd kill your knee."

"Let me worry about my knee."

Anna rolled her eyes at him. "Don't start that."

"Start what?"

"The bloody noble prat act. It gets old quickly."

"I'm not—"

"Of course you are. Any minute now you'll start going on about your age and your shameful past as an alcoholic."

John bristled. "That's not fair. And where the hell is this coming from?" He was confused. On edge. Fight or flight. He didn't know which option to choose, which way to turn. Didn't want to be a coward. Didn't want to face all the things that were in his heart.

"Am I wrong?" Anna challenged. "These conversations always seem to go in one way. You begin listing all the ways that you're worthless to everyone and I sit here in complete silence never knowing what the right thing to say is."

"That's not—" he started, but Anna overrode him.

"It _is_ , John. You're so wrapped up in your own isolation and misery that you don't see what's right in front of you."

He didn't dare ask what that was. It was far too frightening. Far too close to the perilous edge he had been flirting with over the past few weeks.

He didn't have to ask. Anna was not one to shy away from difficult conversations, as he had always known, and this was the case now. Jutting out her chin in defiance, she said, "You haven't seen _me_ , John."

Her words inspired him into his default position—feigned denial. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Anna threw her hands up in frustration. "Yes, you do. You _do_. Whether I've said it aloud or not, I know the thought has crossed your mind. You've been wondering lately if there's something more between us. Don't try to deny it."

Her words wouldn't stop him from denying it. Pleading innocence, telling her that it was a line of thought that had no feasible future, that was what he needed to do. And yet here he was, paralysed with the shock that she had decided to bring this up _now_ of all times, catching him out completely. He was never good with spontaneity. He needed to know that something was coming, needed time to prepare a careful counter-argument.

And Anna knew that. It was exactly why she was capitalising on him at his weakest.

"I think you've had too much to drink," he said feebly.

Anna scowled at him, seeming to grow in stature in her irritation. She was quite a sight to behold. "Don't you dare give me that. You know I've had one glass of wine all day. Don't insult me by telling me that I'm drunk or that I don't know what I'm doing. I won't have it."

John could feel his own temper rising in answer. "Well, what do you expect me to say? To fall gladly into your arms and thank my lucky stars?"

"Something like that, yes! Do you know how tiresome it's been for me, watching you for the last two years and knowing that you're doing everything in your power to drag yourself down? Do you know how demoralising it's been for me waiting for the opportunity to make you see that we could be so good for one another?"

John scrubbed a hand down his face. "Don't do that, Anna. Don't shift all of the blame onto me." He blamed himself enough; if _she_ blamed him too, it would kill him, no matter how deserved it was.

"How else do you expect me to feel?" she demanded. "That's what it's been like, John! I've been standing still for the last two years, hoping against hope that you might finally begin to see that…that I love you."

And there they were. The words he had been dreading—craving—for so long, finally laid exposed in front of them, like the pulsing muscle in open heart surgery. There could be no shying away from it now.

She loved him. All of his greatest fears were coming true.

For long moments, there was complete silence between them, broken only by the hissing and crackling of the fire. Anna's face was ablaze in an orange glow, the dancing shadows only making it harder to read her.

"Well?" she prompted at last. "Am I really going to get nothing in response?"

"I just…I can't believe it," he croaked.

"Can't? Or don't want to?"

He winced at her scalpel-sharp precision. Of course he didn't want her to love him. It would be easier for all of them if she didn't. He could nurse his own broken heart. He'd had enough practice at that, knew that it was no more than he deserved, like an ancient Greek figure forever condemned to the same duty for his own foolish actions. Anna had done nothing to deserve heartache and pain, but that was all she was going to get by tying her heart to his.

"That's not fair," he said quietly. "You know how much I care about you. You mean the whole world to me."

"Do I? So why do you keep insisting on pushing me away?"

"You know why. You're no fool. You know there's no future in it."

"I must be a _huge_ fool," she retorted defiantly. "Because I've been able to see nothing _but_ the future when I look at you, John."

"Don't," he said. "Don't do that to me. You're asking for the impossible."

"Why? Because you don't feel the things I do?"

He swallowed hard. Anna already knew the answer to that, of course; he could tell by the calculating edge to her voice, the way she had cherry-picked each individual word of this conversation so far to cause maximum impact. She had found the key to his carefully guarded heart and had read all of the secrets etched into its surface. She knew exactly how to wound him, the same as Vera always had. Only this time Anna wasn't intending it maliciously. He knew that it wouldn't descend into insults, into a screaming match, into an ending that drove him deeper into the bottle and his own self-destruction. Vera had only cared about hurting him. Anna only cared about nurturing him.

Right in this moment, he had never been hurt as much.

"Please," he said softly. "Stop."

"Why?" said Anna. "So you can brush this under the carpet and pretend that it doesn't exist? That it isn't killing the both of us?"

"You don't know what you're asking of me."

"I'm asking you to open your heart. To trust me."

"I do trust you."

"You don't. Otherwise you would have let me in."

She was still staring at him in that bold manner, so sure of herself. And in that moment he resented her a little, because she wasn't listening to him. Didn't care about what he thought. Didn't want to hear the confusing cacophony of chaos that blared inside his head, driving him mad.

He exploded.

"Maybe it's not all about you, Anna. Maybe it's got nothing to do with not trusting you. Maybe it's got everything to do with not trusting _myself_."

Anna frowned. "And why wouldn't you trust yourself?"

"Because I fuck things up, Anna. It's what I do. And I couldn't bear to hurt you in that way. I don't want to be responsible for breaking your heart. You can do so much better than me, and one day you'll realise that."

"Do you not think I've not had that opportunity already?" she countered fiercely. "I've had the chance to date other people, John. I didn't want to. The only person I've ever wanted is you. No one has ever made me feel the way you do. I don't want to sell myself short by settling for less."

John gave a bitter snort. "Settling for less? Now you're being ridiculous."

"And you're insulting me again."

They were at an impasse. John scrubbed his fingers over his face again, turning to gaze into the flickering flames, anything to escape Anna's scrutiny. He forced calm into his tone. "Anna, you must see that there's no future in this. There are too many things working against us."

"Like what?"

"My past, for one thing. Do you honestly think that your family will be happy to hear that you've set your heart on someone who has drinking problems and a prison sentence? That's not even touching this." He tapped his knee for emphasis, where the joint was beginning to ache once more, as if it knew the high stakes.

"What has my family got to do with any of this?" Anna argued heatedly.

"Because they're still you're family, and they still want what's best for you."

"Yeah? Well, maybe they should have thought about that a long time ago," said Anna. "I make my own choices. My family has nothing to do with that. I don't care about what they might think or say. I don't see them enough for that, and they have no right to judge, not after everything."

For a moment, John wondered what 'everything' was. There was a pain in Anna's eyes that he had never seen before, raw and primal, the kind that hurt to look at. He wanted to ask, to shoulder her pain. At the same time, he was almost afraid to. Afraid of what he might find, like looking directly at the sun and being blinded by it.

"Even so," he said, fighting past it, "it doesn't detract from the fact that you can do so much better than me. You deserve someone whole and unblemished who will treat you like a princess and won't take away any of your light."

"And why do you think that that's what you'll do?" she said. "We're not as different as you seem to think we are. Just because I enjoy socialising doesn't mean that I don't enjoy spending nights in and having some peace and quiet. I enjoy that more than anything else, you know that. If you gave me the choice, I'd pick staying in with you over going out with someone else any day of the week. And I don't think you can dare say that we're not compatible on other levels, because you know damn well we are. I've never met anyone else I can be completely myself around, not even Mary. And I know you feel the same way about me."

That was something he couldn't deny. No matter what might come, he had never had to disguise his true self with her. He had never worried about being judged by her because he knew that she would never just take someone on face value, but would want to delve deeper into them to get to know the real person behind the front.

"Whether that's the case or not, it doesn't change the facts," he said now.

"It changes everything," Anna countered simply. "It means that you have feelings for me too. It means that I have something to keep fighting for."

She was going to keep fighting for him. She was going to keep picking at his defences, draining him until he had no more fight.

"No, Anna," he said forcefully. It was the only way he could think of reasserting himself, of maintaining the upper hand. If he lost that, he lost the entire battle. "There is nothing to fight for. This is all we can have, don't you understand? I will not tar you with the same brush as me. I will not drag you down and ruin your life."

"Those are my choices to make, not yours," she shot back, her voice rising. "You don't get to make those choices for me, John. I'm my own person."

"And so am I," he retorted. "If we both want different things, this is never going to work."

"The thing is, I don't believe that we _do_ want different things. I think you're too scared to admit that you want exactly the same things that I do. I just wish that you'd give us both the chance we deserve to see if we can be as happy as I think we can."

"You make it sound so simple."

She shrugged. "That's because it is. I've told you, I don't care about any of the things in your past. That's not important to me. What's important is the man you are _now_. And I know you're a good man, John. You prove that to me every single day. I'm not interested in someone my own age because I know that they could never mean as much to me as you do."

"You're forgetting about Vera—"

"No, I'm not. I just don't think she's as important as you seem to think she is. What can she do to us, really?"

"You don't know her. You don't know what she's like. She's poison, Anna. She could tear anyone apart in a few seconds." He'd been on the receiving end of that far too many times, knew from personal experience what it was like to lay shattered at her feet. He had never taken it lying down, there could be no denying that, but she was like a vengeful goddess, never losing. Anna was strong, but even she could not mount a counter-attack in the face of Vera's wrath.

Not that she seemed to agree with him. Her eyes flashed, and she sprang to her feet. The darkness made her seem twice as tall.

"You think I'm scared of someone like that?" she said. "Let me assure you, Mr. Bates, I'm not. I've seen plenty of shit in my life, and someone like that isn't even worth my time. What can she possibly do? Throw around a few accusations about the two of us? Spread a few stupid lies that no one is going to believe? Why should that be something to fear?"

"You don't understand. She can twist any situation to her liking, manipulate anyone into her way of thinking. You'd be an outcast before you'd even know what hit you."

"So? You think being an outcast is the worst fate I could suffer? I'm not afraid of that, John. I learned a long time ago that you can't always count on the people you think you can. I'm made of sterner stuff than that. As long as I have you, I know I'll be all right."

"You can't know that," he whispered. "You don't know what you'd be sacrificing for me."

"I'd be sacrificing nothing," she said, her gaze never wavering from him. "I would be losing a lot more if I didn't give this a try. We could make each other very happy if only you'd let us. I promise you, John, there's nobody better for me than you." Her lips curled a little, playful. "Besides, I think your mother would spontaneously combust if she thought she'd done all of this tonight for naught. The very least I owe her is to try and make her son happy. That's all she wants for you."

"Of course she does. She's my mother. It's nature's law. Just because she wants it, it doesn't mean that I deserve it."

"Bleedin' hell," said Anna, clearly exasperated now. "Why do you think you're so underserving? Have you killed someone?"

"Well, technically—" he said, his mouth twisting bitterly.

"Oh, don't start. You were in a war. Whether it's uncomfortable to think about or not, it's a harsh fact. You kill or get killed. I know you're not the kind of man who revels in violence and taking someone else's life away. I know it haunts you every day."

There could be no denying that. The death and destruction was part of the reason why he had come to rely so heavily on the alcohol. Respite had only come in the bottom of the bottle in those early months after his arrival home, and he had drunk himself into oblivion simply to avoid the chronic pain in his knee and the cloying memories of his comrades being blown apart right before his eyes.

"So I'll ask you again: why do you think you're so undeserving of another chance?"

"I know what you're getting at," he muttered. "But it's not as simple as all that."

"Then explain it to me, please. Because from where I'm standing it couldn't be simpler."

How could he articulate all the reasons in his head? Anna always tried to see the good in people, no matter what. Someone as pure as she was would never understand the depths he had fallen to, the horrors he had endured. To her, redemption was never far away. If only he could believe the same.

"You have done nothing that doesn't warrant a second chance," Anna continued now. "You've made your mistakes and you've atoned for them. You're not Tantalus. You don't have to spend the rest of your life punishing yourself for something that's over and done with. We operate under the philosophy that everyone deserves a second chance, so why doesn't this apply to you too? Why won't you let me be the second chance that you deserve?"

She moved closer to him, so that he had to crane his neck to carry on looking at her. His mouth was dry. His mind was fuzzing over. This close, he could smell the faint seductive waft of her perfume, feel the heavy weight of her gaze like a blanket.

"I can't," he said hoarsely.

"You can," Anna countered softly. "You can. Let me in, John."

She leaned even closer to him; this time, he could feel the ends of her silky hair brushing against his face, making the hairs on his arms stand on end. He swallowed hard, tried to form words.

Couldn't.

Because Anna had dipped her head down to his and captured his mouth with her own.

Time stopped.

All he could focus on was the soft press of her mouth against his, so soft that it was barely there. A feather kiss, like angels' wings. A blessing.

Every nerve in his body was screaming at him to pull away. To put some space between them. To end this madness. And yet he couldn't. It was as if he was being held in place by some kind of spell; bewitched by the exquisite texture of her mouth.

Seeming to gain confidence from the fact that he hadn't immediately pulled away from her, Anna moved to wind the fingers of her right hand through his hair, angling his head slightly to give her better access. He had no idea what to do with his own hands. He wanted desperately to reach out and wrap them around her waist, but that would feel like an impertinence too far, so he left them dangling uselessly in his lap.

It didn't deter Anna; he felt the tip of her tongue against his lips as she pressed even closer to him.

It broke him. He had spent the last two years wondering what it would be like to kiss her, and now he finally had that knowledge.

It was perfect, that was what it was.

He didn't even recall moving his own hand up to her cheek, cupping it in the palm of his hand and drawing her further down towards him.

He didn't remember opening his mouth to her and letting her deepen the kiss.

He blanked out the moment he let her move to sit astride his lap, pushing him further back into the sofa.

All of it was completely overwhelming. Terrifying. Exhilarating.

He wouldn't be able to tell how much time had passed before Anna pulled away from him, with the slow satisfaction of someone who had got exactly what she wanted. She ran her tongue over her lips, sending heat arrowing straight down into the pit of his stomach, and gave him a slightly lopsided smile.

"There," she said, "was that really so bad?"

He was mute, stupid. There were still a thousand things he should say, a thousand ways he should protest, and yet they had all fled in that instant. He could only shake his head. He had never expected it to be bad.

He had never expected it to be so good.

Anna smoothed her thumb over his cheek, caressing the notch there. "I love you, John. Please take a chance on this. Please take the chance to be happy. You wouldn't begrudge it Vera if she found someone else, so please don't deny yourself out of fear. We can handle anything that's thrown at us, I know we can. And I promise that I'm always going to be here."

"You can't make promises like that," he said.

"But I can. Because I know it to be true. My feelings aren't going to change. I'm as sure of that as I am that the sun will rise in the east."

He believed her. There was too much sincerity in her voice to ever doubt her. It didn't make it any easier to come to terms with, but there could be no more denial. He had to face up to reality, whether he wanted to or not. He was acutely aware of the way that she was pressing up against him, her small body a reassuring weight in his lap. Nothing had ever felt as right as that did; it was as if they'd been doing it for years, moulding to each other in a way that was born of years of knowing each other intimately.

And he couldn't lie to her any longer. Couldn't lie to himself.

"I love you too, Anna," he found himself whispering, so softly that he hoped it might be lost in the space between them.

It wasn't. He heard Anna's swift intake of breath, felt her grip on him tighten.

"Do you mean that?" she breathed. "Really and truly?"

"Really and truly," he confirmed. "But that doesn't make a difference to anything."

"You're wrong. It makes a difference to everything. It means I have everything I've ever wanted."

"I just don't see how this can end well for us," he said wretchedly. "I don't see a way through the darkness. I've spent so long being alone and miserable that I don't think I can remember what it's like to be happy."

"Then we'll relearn together," she promised him. "There's a way through this, you'll see. You just have to trust me."

That was the crux of the matter. Trust. He had had so few reasons to trust people these days; beyond his mother and Robert, there was really no one else he trusted beside her. But he _did_ trust her. He'd trust her with his life.

So how could he not trust her with his heart?

He had to. He'd be a fool not to. And she was right: what was the point of living his life if he spent the rest of it cowering in fear? It was not really living at all.

When he had taken the bullet for Robert, he had fully expected to die on the battlefield. He had not. So why was he living his life like a ghost? Did he not owe it to the thousands who _had_ perished overseas, the comrades-in-arms who had never returned home to their loved ones? That was what his mother had been telling him for years. It was something that he had always dismissed, but sitting here with Anna now, with his lips still tingling from her kiss, gave him a different perspective. If he threw away this opportunity, he was spitting on the graves of all the people who hadn't made it out alive; he was making a mockery of the sanctuary that their loved ones would never have again, for there was no bringing them back.

"I do trust you," he whispered. It was the truest thing he had ever said; he would trust Anna with his life, as he had been entrusted with Robert's. The combination of her steeliness, her empathy, her love, meant that he never had anything to fear.

A smile broke out across Anna's face, and she rewarded his words with the gentle swipe of her fingers across his cheeks. His eyelids fluttered at the sensation, and he found himself pressing further into her touch, seeking her out.

"Good," she murmured. "So can I take this as a sign of your surrender?"

He chuckled hoarsely. "I'm raising the white flag. There's no arguing with you."

"So I should hope," she said. "I'll have you know that I don't like to lose any argument, Mr. Bates."

"I already know that. How many arguments have I already lost over the last two years?"

"I think this is one that you're not going to regret losing."

No, he was not. In silent answer, he took the initiative this time, moving to press his mouth softly to hers. He did not move to deepen it, but the pink flush that had spilled into her cheeks when he pulled away was a wonderful prize; with the firelight flickering over her, she was practically glowing.

"You're right," he whispered. "I'm not going to regret losing."

She squeezed him tight in the circle of her arms, resting her forehead against his. He was content to let his eyes slip closed, focusing on the warm weight of her against him. She was so careful to keep all of her weight distributed over his left side, and he couldn't love her more for it.

At length, she pulled away from him. There was fatigue in her gaze now, dimming the desire slightly.

"We should get to bed," she said. "It's late."

"It is," he agreed. "Are you sure you don't want me to wake Mother?"

"No, leave her. You're not intruding."

"I insist on taking the sofa. I won't kick you out of your bed. Have you got a blanket I can borrow?"

But Anna shook her head, biting at her lip. "Don't be silly. I won't have you sleeping down here on the sofa. There's plenty of room in my bed."

The air vanished from the room. John's mouth tumbled open, and he could feel himself burning right down to his roots.

"What?" he said, his mouth dry. Christ, _that_ was an image he could do without.

If Anna was nervous, she wasn't showing it. "I have a double bed upstairs. It'll be much comfier than the sofa."

"I'm not sure that that's a good idea," he said carefully.

"I don't mean for us to _do_ anything. I agree that it's too soon for any of that. I don't want us to rush into a physical relationship, but I also don't see the need for you to be uncomfortable all night on the sofa. I can control myself, I promise. I'm not going to pull any moves on you."

Which was good, because John wasn't sure he'd be able to control himself if she did, even if his mother was just across the hallway. As much as he wanted to maintain his image of gentlemanly decorum, he knew that his body would betray him all too easily, and the last thing he wanted to do was make a fool of himself.

Again, he knew that he could trust Anna to keep to her word.

Cautiously, he nodded. Anna beamed at him.

"Great," she said. "You go upstairs and get yourself ready, I'll just clear the things away here. I have a new toothbrush in the bathroom cabinet. You can use that. I don't have any clothes that will fit you, though."

"That's okay. I'll figure something out."

With a nod, Anna slid off his lap and headed to the kitchen. John made his way out into the hallway and heaved himself upstairs, trying to keep his tread as light as possible so that he didn't disturb his mother. He clicked the bathroom light on and found the toothbrush that Anna had promised. He cleaned his teeth at the sink, trying not to let his gaze wander around at all the neat, Anna-esque touches that graced the room. There was the perfume that he had smelled earlier. Her makeup bag had spilled out across the shelf. There was an assortment of hair products clustered in the corner of the shower.

When he had finished his evening routine, he made his way down the hall to Anna's bedroom. However, it took him several moments to work up the courage to go inside. Somehow, it felt wrong to be crossing that line, as if some sacred spirit would be stirred at his daring. In the two years he had known her, he had never set foot inside such a personal space before. Already he felt shy, awkward and out of place.

Still, he didn't want Anna to catch him loitering outside like a fool, either, so he took a deep breath and pushed open the door. At once he was engulfed by the tantalising scent of her, and he stood in the doorway, allowing his eyes to adjust to the new darkness.

Anna's space was everything he had always imagined it to be, neat and pristine. Everything had its place, and it was clear that she was very house proud.

The bed dominated most of the space, and he swallowed hard as he tentatively crept forwards towards it. Yes, there would certainly be enough room for the both of them there, but it was also rather intimidating; he could almost sense a challenge from it.

That was most definitely something he didn't want to take up, so he hastily turned away and directed his thoughts instead to what he would do now. Sleeping naked was absolutely out of the question. At home he usually stripped down to his boxers, but that felt far too intimate for a first night. On the flip side, he did not want to spend the night sleeping in his clothes, for their restrictive state would make it very difficult for him to sleep. Realistically, the best thing he could probably do was strip his lower half to his boxers but keep his t-shirt on. That would ensure that he was at least semi-comfortable whilst maintaining some of his dignity.

Satisfied that he'd reached a suitable compromise, he fumbled with his clothes and stripped off as far as he dared. He placed the cushions she had on the floor, then peeled back the duvet on one side of the bed. He had no idea which side she preferred to sleep on, but he didn't want to remain standing around like a pillock, waiting for her to appear. She could always tell him to budge up if she needed to.

Five minutes later, she did appear, lingering in the doorway, a little shy herself. John tried for a smile that didn't quite feel natural on his face.

"Hi," he whispered.

"Hi," she returned, venturing further into the room. "You okay?"

"I think so. Am I all right on this side?"

"Yeah, that's fine. I usually take the other one."

Another reason why they would clearly be good for one another. "I prefer this one for my knee. I can't lie on my right side." This way, he would be able to hold her in his arms if she requested it. The mere thought of it made his heart beat an erratic tattoo against his ribcage.

"Well, get yourself comfortable," she said. "I'm just going to get changed in the bathroom. I won't be too long."

He nodded, trying not to watch her as she rounded the room for all the things she needed. Thank God she selected a pair of cotton pyjamas. He wasn't sure what he'd've done if she'd pulled out something else.

Ten minutes later, she returned, looking devastatingly beautiful. He'd seen her in casualwear before, but nothing like this, with mussed hair and traces of smudged makeup still around her eyes. She paused for a moment, as if she was trying to gather her courage, and then she tiptoed forward, peeling back the duvet on her side of the bed. She got herself comfortable on her side, her back facing him.

"Goodnight," she whispered.

"Goodnight," he murmured.

"Will you hold me?"

It was something he'd been longing for and dreading; he had no idea how he was supposed to sleep when she was in such close proximity to him. Still, he was beyond glad that she had eschewed a goodnight kiss. Kissing in such a location would probably have consequences for them both. Holding her was much safer.

He shuffled up behind her, pressing his body to the length of her slim back. He draped his arm around her waist and rested his chin atop her head. He felt the sigh ripple through her, her whole body relaxing at the contact. His own responded in kind, and he allowed his eyes to drift closed as her familiar, comforting scent washed over him. This was paradise.

He wasn't even sure when he drifted off; the next thing he was aware of was the grey morning light filtering into the room, Anna's body still tangled around his own, the warmth and contentment permeating every cell in his body. He breathed in deeply, burying his head further into Anna's hair, fanned across the pillow they were sharing.

"There's a cup of tea there for you, son."

The whisper almost made him jump a mile; he rolled over, heart palpitating wildly, to find his mother standing in the doorway, a very pleased smile on her face. Swearing, he scrabbled around for the duvet, yanking it up as far as he could. Beside him, Anna made a snuffling sound, but she didn't wake. Thank God for small mercies.

"What the hell are you doing?" he hissed at his mother, glaring as sanctimoniously as he could when he was half-naked. Even though nothing had happened, it was still highly embarrassing to be caught in such a position.

"I'm concocting a Christmas miracle," was his mother's smug reply. "Looks like it worked a treat."

"You are impossible," he growled.

"I thought _you_ were impossible. But it seems you weren't infallible to lovely Anna's charms after all. I thank God for that."

"Yeah, well, next time don't get involved in things," John muttered, scrubbing a hand down his face. It _was_ bruising to his ego to think that his _mother_ had played matchmaker for him, all because he hadn't had the courage to follow his heart himself.

"You'd be nowhere without me," she smirked. "I just hope you were sensible."

John felt his ears burning, and he resisted the urge to pull the duvet over his head—just barely. "Christ, I am _not_ having that conversation with you. Besides, nothing happened." And it bloody wouldn't, not when she was sniffing around for information. The last thing he needed was to share that with his seventy year old mother.

"It's good to know that you're not rushing into things," she said sagely. "Now, I'm going to go downstairs. I'm sure Anna won't mind if I make breakfast, will she?"

"I doubt it," said John. Anna wasn't the kind of person to be overly protective of her kitchen, as he knew some people were. She'd probably be mortified to know that someone else had made breakfast, but she wouldn't be angry about it.

His mother nodded. "Very good. I'll see you soon. We should head off after that, I suppose. We wouldn't want to outstay our welcome. Not that Anna would think that of _you_."

"She wouldn't think it of you, either," John argued. "She likes you very much."

"And I like her very much. Thank God your taste has improved this time."

John rolled his eyes, but couldn't help smiling as his mother withdrew. It couldn't be denied: Anna and Vera were polar opposites in every way. There could be no comparisons, though. Anna was better in every way.

He knew that they wouldn't be able to linger here for much longer, not really, not when his mother was downstairs. But, he supposed as he settled himself back down, engulfing Anna in his arms once more, he could spare five more minutes to bask in this Christmas miracle and the resolution of so many years of misery.

* * *

 _Jumpers_

Anna's love of ugly Christmas jumpers had always amused him greatly. Each year she sported a new one, and it was always great fun to silently bet on what monstrosity she might decide on this year.

What he hadn't thought about was the implication for himself now that he was in a relationship with her.

Almost a full year had passed since that fateful Christmas Day when she had kissed him in front of the flickering fire, and it had been the happiest year of his life. There had been so much joy that he hadn't even realised he could feel again. Each day that had passed had only strengthened their relationship, until it had got to the point where even he could believe that what they had was unbreakable. It was a joyous feeling.

And so here they were, almost a year down the line, about to embark on their first Christmas together. From the first day of November Anna had been an excitable bundle of energy. She had insisted on putting her Christmas decorations up even earlier than usual, and had demanded that he play an active role in making sure that her house was perfect. If he was honest with himself, he'd thought that he would hate every moment of it, but quite the opposite was true; despite his dislike of the holiday season, Anna's enthusiasm was infectious, and it was going to be much easier to bear this year when he had so much to celebrate. No longer did the holiday season mean gloom and loneliness. They had worked together to turn Anna's house into a veritable grotto, and he had even conceded to letting his own house be transformed beyond what it usually was, much to Anna's delight. He usually put a limp little tree up the week before Christmas just to say that he'd made _some_ effort, but this year Anna took charge with gusto, and it wasn't long before his house almost resembled hers. His mother, of course, was absolutely thrilled in this turn of events, since she had been trying and failing for years to get him to get into the spirit of the season.

"See, I knew she was a keeper!" she crowed triumphantly when she entered his house the first time afterwards to find it decked out in holly and tinsel.

So, yes, the transformation of his house was something that he had come to expect, but he hadn't given any thought to the other Christmas traditions that Anna kept up so fiercely. Therefore her appearance at his door on a Friday evening when she had told him that she was going out shopping with Mary took him by surprise. The first snow of the season was beginning to fall, delicate little flakes that he prayed wouldn't settle. If there was one thing he disliked more than the cheer of the holiday, it was the threat of the adverse weather. There was nothing worse than trying to drive to work in the snow, and that kind of weather was never kind to his knee.

"Hello," he said now, holding the door open. "I wasn't expecting you tonight."

Anna shrugged. She was togged up warmly, her cheeks flushed pink by the cold night air, bright red coat adding a splash of colour to the dark night. Her arms were occupied by several shopping bags, her spoils for the evening. "I didn't think you'd mind."

"And you'd be right," he said, reaching out to take some of the burden from her. "Are you staying for the night?"

"Do you want me to?"

As if that was even a question. "Well, you're here now. There's no sense in going back out, is there?"

She shot him a knowing grin and ducked over the threshold, wriggling out of her outer layers.

"Can you take the bags upstairs?" she said. "And don't go peeking through them. There are some things in there that need to be sent off to Santa."

John snorted, rolling his eyes. "You mean I made it on to the 'Nice' list? And here was me thinking I'd be faced with a stocking full of coal on Christmas Day."

"Silly beggar. You've been _very_ nice this year. Fully deserving of lots and lots of presents from Santa."

"Okay, now it just sounds creepy," he said, and she laughed.

"Just take everything upstairs," she advised. "I'll go and get changed, if that's okay."

"Of course it is."

Anna had moved some things into his domain six months into their relationship, as he had done at hers. It meant that they could spend stretches at a time together without running out of things to wear, whilst also maintaining their own spaces. Not that that would be for much longer. Very soon, John hoped to ask her to move in with him. Or, failing that, him in with her if she was agreeable. Logically, it made more sense for them to move into his house, which was mortgaged rather than rented and had an extra bedroom to boot, but he knew that Anna was very fond of her little house, especially since she had struggled so hard to afford any of it in the first place.

They'd figure it out when the time came.

Leaving her in the hallway where she was attempting to kick off her boots, John took her purchases upstairs and dumped everything onto the spare bed. He was far too gentlemanly to ruin whatever surprises she might have got for him, so he turned away from the temptation of peeking and headed across the landing to his own bedroom, where he could hear rustling sounds. Anna had made her way upstairs after him and was currently rummaging around in her drawer for something to wear. She looked dishevelled and gorgeous, holding the thick, fluffy pyjamas depicting owls. They were truly horrendous, and yet they had their own charm about them, which Anna pulled off flawlessly. Then again, almost anything Anna did was flawless.

"I think I'll need the extra warmth tonight," she said, correctly reading his gaze as she wriggled out of her clothes unselfconsciously. That was another thing he loved about her. She just didn't care. Other women might shun wearing something like that in order to avoid their partner thinking them mad. Not Anna. If John didn't like it, she'd probably tell him to sod off. Which made her all the more attractive to him, regardless of what she was wearing.

"I can think of a few ways to warm you up," he said innocently, then laughed as she lobbed a cushion in his direction. He dodged it easily, laying himself down on his side of the bed and turning his head slightly so he could continue watching her. "Seriously, though, I hope you haven't gone too mad on me. We promised not to spend silly amounts of money on each other."

"I know," Anna said innocuously.

He groaned. "Does this mean you've already blown the budget?"

"Oh, come on, like you were ever going to stick to it. Am I not allowed to spoil my boyfriend at Christmas?"

 _My boyfriend_. Even a year on, he still had to pinch himself every time he heard those words. They still seemed surreal.

"Okay, I get it," he conceded. "I don't think I deserve it, but I won't grouch about it too much."

"Good. Because you deserve to be spoiled, Mr. Bates, and I'm very lucky to be the woman spoiling you." She beamed at him, pushing her hair away from her face. "Actually, I _do_ have one thing to give you."

He arched an eyebrow. "An early Christmas present?"

"No, not exactly. But it is a tradition of sorts."

He thought about the mistletoe that she'd hung up all over her house, going warm at the mere thought of it. They'd certainly had fun meeting each other under every doorway, and she'd even tacked a sprig to her headboard in the bedroom, which had certainly brought about a few appealing encounters.

"I'm all for traditions," he said, his voice throatier than he'd intended with the memories in his head.

Anna only smirked mischievously. "That's good to hear. Wait here and I'll go and get it."

With that, she bounded out of the room. John lay back on the bed, grinning up at the ceiling. He wondered if he was in for a treat, after all—he'd spied a few adverts for sexy Christmas lingerie in some of the shops around town.

"Close your eyes," Anna sang.

Grinning harder, he obeyed, wondering what sight might await him. Anna in garters, perhaps. She'd made a show of getting into those comfortable pyjamas, but that might have just been a ruse, a way to make him admire her femininity all the more, perhaps. The possibilities were endless.

The reality was certainly not what he'd been expecting.

Something heavy was plunked onto him. Startled, he opened his eyes. It took several seconds to comprehend what he was seeing, for the assault on his eyes was so great.

Anna had dumped the ugliest Christmas jumper he had ever seen onto his lap. It was red and green, the colours clashing garishly, decorated with Christmas baubles.

It was genuinely the most horrific thing he had ever seen in his life.

"What the hell is that?" he blurted. It hardly sounded grateful, but he couldn't help it; faced with a monstrosity like that, it was difficult to pretend he liked it.

Anna wasn't offended; she only laughed. "It's your Christmas jumper."

"My…Christmas jumper?"

"Yep. You know I wear a Christmas jumper every year. Since we're together now, it's time you started wearing one too."

"I can't be seen in this."

"Why not?" she challenged, her eyes dancing with mirth.

"Anna, it's ugly as hell."

"That's the whole point! Ugly Christmas jumpers _make_ Christmas! It's like a Christmas dinner with no turkey: unthinkable!"

"And yet I've managed to live so many years without it," John drawled.

"Well, no more, Mr. Bates. You're with me now, so I'm afraid you're simply going to have to get over your ridiculous hatred of the season because there's no way I'm changing _my_ stance on Christmas."

"More's the pity," he said with a grin. "If Robert saw me in that thing, he'd kill himself laughing."

"I'm sure you've seen Robert in some pretty horrendous things in your time."

"Maybe, but you know Robert. Anything humiliating rolls off him like water off a duck's back."

"And you're too macho for that."

He rolled his eyes. "We haven't all been graced with ignorance, you know."

"Touché. Anyway, stop changing the subject. You're wearing it and that's flat."

"Thomas and O'Brien are going to have a field day," he said, a touch grumpily at the thought of the sneers and whispers he would garner, even if it was for National Christmas Jumper Day.

"You'd get more satisfaction if you didn't rise to it," she said. "What can they say about you that they haven't said a million times before?"

That was true. They'd called him every name under the sun during his time at Crawley's, and it had only got worse in the last year as news of his relationship with Anna had filtered through the ranks. He knew that it bemused some people, who saw the age gap as something too big to bridge, and Thomas and O'Brien had been particularly contemptuous of it. Most of the time it hadn't bothered him, for he'd known that they were only saying those things out of spite, but in his darker moments sometimes those words came back to haunt him. They could spend the next hundred years together, and he would never truly believe himself worthy of someone like Anna. She was too good for this world, too good for _him_.

Which was why he would do anything in his power to make her happy. Even if it meant wearing a godawful Christmas jumper.

"Fine," he sighed. "You win. I'll wear the bloody Christmas jumper."

She squealed, flinging her arms around his neck. "I knew you wouldn't let me down. You're the best, you know that?"

"I try," he murmured, breathing in the scent of her hair as he wound his own arms around her back. Holding her close like this was his favourite thing in the world. Nothing calmed him like this. And he knew, without a doubt, he would do absolutely anything for this woman. Anything that would improve her life, he would do in a heartbeat. He'd sacrifice anything for her happiness. People might not think that they were well-suited or compatible, but Anna's opinion was the only one that counted. It didn't matter what their work colleagues thought. What her family thought. If she was happy, he was happy.

The eighteenth day of December found him sporting said Christmas jumper in all of its ugly glory. It had looked bad enough on the hanger, but it was even _worse_ on a live human being. The knitted bauble patterns stretched out across his chest in an almost obscene manner, and the colours clashed tastelessly with his pale complexion, making him look pastier than ever.

He'd been dreading the derisive remarks people were bound to make about his appearance, but Anna's own jumper was the worst atrocity he had ever seen, and she was wearing it with great pride. They would look quite the pair together, were likely to be the talk of the office.

John found that he didn't care in the slightest, not when Anna looked at him with such adoration in her eyes and slipped her hand into his. As long as she was there holding him steady, he knew that he never had anything to fear.

Even if he was wearing a godawful Christmas jumper.

* * *

 _Stockings_

'T'was the night before Christmas, when all the through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.

Well, okay, that wasn't strictly true.

John Bates was wide awake, staring up at the darkened ceiling, listening to the pops and creaks of the house around him as he gauged whether Anna had fallen into a deep enough sleep yet not to be disturbed if he was to slip out of the bed. She was curled up beside him, her head cushioned against his chest, and the last thing he wanted to do was alert her to his actions.

He waited another ten minutes, and when Anna's breathing deepened and evened even further, he decided that now was as good a time as any. Slowly, carefully, he manoeuvred himself out from underneath her, propping her head under one of the pillows so that the sudden loss in height wouldn't wake her.

Success: Anna slumbered on, oblivious.

Buoyed, John located his robe and threw it on, then tiptoed around the room and out of the door. It was a relief not to need his cane around the house, for the incessant tapping against the floor was sure to disturb her, and he wanted to make things nice. After all, this was both their anniversary and their first Christmas together. Everything had to be perfect. His mother was also asleep in one of the spare rooms, retiring earlier than they had. She was a light sleeper, like him, and he wanted to avoid being caught in the act of doing something so sentimental. He was a stoic man at heart, and the last thing he wanted right now was more of his mother's teasing. She made him feel like a child again, sometimes.

Switching on the Christmas lights to cause a soft glow in the living room, the better to see with, he bent down to the pouffe and pulled the lid up. It was a place that Anna never went, and so it had proven to be the perfect place to secrete away some of her Christmas gifts.

The biggest token lay amongst them.

It was silly, really, just a small detail. But if there was one thing he was good at, it was listening to other people. He enjoyed melting into the background and observing things, filing them away for future reference, like an artist might. Where Anna was concerned, he paid even greater attention, for he wanted to make everything as perfect for her as possible. Christmas might be one of his least favourite times of the year, but he was damned if he was going to spoil the experience for Anna.

He took out the stocking.

It had been lovingly purchased a few weeks earlier on a shopping trip to one of the nearby cities. The shop had been selling a whole host of personalised stockings to suit nearly every need, and he had been drawn there at once. Anna had told him that one of her favourite childhood memories—one of the few that she still treasured—was coming down the stairs on Christmas morning to find a stocking hanging above the fireplace. The little presents that stuffed it to its seams could have been put in a sack along with the rest of the gifts, but there had been something so magical and special about seeing it hanging there like something out of a fairy tale that it had stayed with her forever.

He wanted so desperately to recreate that feeling for her, to bring back a glimpse of the childhood she had loved and lost.

When she had told him about the horrors that she'd faced in her young adolescence at the hands of her stepfather, he'd been filled with a horror that he'd never known before. She was right: he would never have guessed the suffering behind the smile, the fragility behind her complicated feelings for her mother. It had made him feel even guiltier for the way he had acted, for what he had suffered was nothing compared to the trauma that she had been through, and yet she had not let it grind her down and defeat her. She had not marinated in some deep depression, drinking herself to oblivion. She had not decided that happiness would never find her. She had taken all of those awful negatives and channelled them into positives. It made him ashamed that he had not taken the same stance. Anna argued that that was a silly thing to think, for everyone reacted to traumatic situations differently, and just because his life had gone off the rails for a while didn't mean that his suffering was any more shameful. She didn't think she could cope with the things he'd seen, she'd told him. Death, destructions, blood, guts, friends dying right before his eyes. That was something almost beyond comprehension. He'd loved her all the more for her gentle understanding.

Which had led him to this. Recreating one of her favourite childhood memories in the hope that it would convey the level of love he had for her.

The stocking was a simple one, all things considered. He had had it personalised with Anna's name, but that was as far as it went. Anna liked tradition, and he had stuck with that. The stocking was red, with the white fur around the top, synonymous with the conventional theme they were all accustomed to. It would hang perfectly over the fireplace, ready to be discovered in the morning.

Working as quietly and efficiently as possible, he filled the stocking with all the small items he had purchased, then secured it on to the temporary hook he had stuck up. It swung there for a few moments, testing the weight, before coming to a rest, looking charming and inviting. He couldn't wait to see Anna's face in the morning.

Satisfied that his work was done, John switched the lights off and crept back to bed. Anna shifted as he crawled back in between the sheets, wrapping her arms around him.

"Where'd you go?" she mumbled.

"Needed the bathroom," he said, kissing her temple. "Go back to sleep, my darling."

That never took much encouragement. With a sleepy sound, she burrowed her head against his chest and was soon snuffling once more. Smiling to himself, John held her even closer and closed his eyes, following her down.

He was woken quite abruptly at the crack of dawn by a sharp prod to the ribs. Grumbling to himself, he tried to evade it, but it followed him persistently.

"Wake up," came the impatient command.

Anna. Jesus. Any other day of the year it was almost impossible to prise her out of the comfort of the bedsheets. On Christmas Day she was just like an overexcited child, desperate to be up and about. He pulled the covers over his head.

"Too early," he grumbled, not sure that she could hear him.

"Nonsense," said Anna. "It's never too early on Christmas Day. Didn't you used to get up at the silliest hours, desperate to see if Santa had been?"

"When I was about five, maybe." He huffed when she delivered another sharp poke to the side. "You weren't lying when you said you like to get up early on Christmas Day."

"I never lie," she said tartly. "Now, get up, Mr. Bates. It's the most exciting day of the year."

"Debatable. Anyway, I doubt Mother is going to want to get up at this time. You can hardly start without her."

"I don't intend on starting without her. But that doesn't mean we can't go downstairs and get a cup of tea."

"And you can inspect whether Santa has been?" he teased.

She shrugged, unabashed. "I'd like to think he has. I think I've been on the nice list this year."

"Oh, you have been," he growled, snaking an arm out around her waist. "You've been very, _very_ nice."

She wriggled out of his grip before he could take his seduction any further. "Not when your mum's in the house. I still want her to actually like me when this is all over."

"She adores you. I think she's more likely to go off me than she is off you. Besides, she's almost deaf now. She's not going to notice a thing."

"I'm not taking any risks," said Anna. "No sex until after she's gone home."

"Spoilsport. That was the only thing that would have made getting up bearable," he muttered, then held his hands up in mock surrender when she glared at him. "Fine, fine, you win. Look, I'm getting up."

"Good," she said approvingly. "You can stick the kettle on. And put the heating on. I'll come down in five minutes when it's warmed up a bit."

He slid out of bed and found his dressing gown again, knotting it securely at his waist. To be fair, he wanted to be the first person downstairs this morning—he wanted to see Anna's face when she walked through the doorway and noticed the stocking. He was sure it was an expression that would stay with him for the rest of his life.

He could hear no noise from his mother's room as he passed. That was okay. He loved his mother dearly, for she had raised him alone under difficult circumstances, ones that many other women would have crumbled beneath, and he never wanted to exclude her from his life—it was why he was so grateful to have Anna, who recognised the importance of this and indeed had it lacking in her own life and therefore made every effort possible to include her, seeing her as a mother-like figure herself—but at the same time he wanted this moment, their very first on their very first Christmas together, to be theirs and theirs alone. He wanted to witness the look on her face unaccompanied, to hold her in his arms, to treasure the words between them. He did not want such a sacred moment to be intruded on by anyone, not even his mother.

He switched the Christmas tree lights on on his way through to the kitchen, where they started to dance and flicker cheerfully. The other houses on this quiet cul-de-sac were still in darkness—it was not yet a family area, though it was occupied by several young couples who would surely be thinking about starting families in the next few years.

Who knew, perhaps their own children would be joining them in that time.

The thought made him feel warm all over. Before Anna, he had never considered himself the kind of person who would make a good father. Certainly not the man he had been with Vera. He had not been in the right frame of mind for fatherhood, and that environment would have been toxic for any child. No child deserved to see its parents arguing all the time, like he and Vera had, and by her own admission Vera would have made a terrible mother.

He could not imagine a better one than Anna. She would teach their children to be strong and kind, should they ever be lucky enough to have any, and although he still wasn't sure what kind of father he would make, he knew he had a lot less to fear with someone like Anna by his side, who would guide him and help him strive to be the best person he could be.

Shaking his head, he hurried up and finished making the cups of tea he had started, conscious that he could hear Anna moving about above his head. He carried them into the living room, set them down on the coffee table, and waited patiently.

He did not have to wait for very long. Soon Anna appeared in the doorway, puffy-eyed but glowing, drawing her dressing gown closer to combat the cold.

"Tea's ready," he said, indicating the mug. She smiled gratefully, moving forward to sweep it up.

"Thanks," she said. "You're perfect."

"I like to try," he smirked, moving to sit on one of the sofas. He kept his gaze on her expectantly, waiting for her to notice his efforts.

Her eyes fixated on the stocking. Her mouth tumbled open, her eyes widened.

"Oh my God…" she whispered. Slowly, she turned towards him, their gazes meeting. There was surprise there, overwhelming love and joy.

"Merry Christmas," he said simply, his heart tightening in his chest. Christ, he wished he could bottle this moment to take out at will.

"You've done this for…me?" she said.

"Of course I have," he said. "I love you. I want you to have the happiest Christmas I can give you."

Slowly, Anna crept forward, as if she couldn't quite believe what she was seeing. With trembling fingers, she reached out and touched the material, tracing her name reverently. When she turned back towards him, there were tears in her eyes.

"I can't believe you'd do something like this," she whispered. "It's so thoughtful. No one has ever done anything like it before. Thank you so much."

John shrugged. "It's nothing, Anna, truly. If I could give you the world, I would. As it is, you're going to have to accept this small token. I wish I could do more…"

"You've done more than enough," she said firmly, coming over to him. She flung her arms around his neck and clutched him tightly, burying her face into his neck. He felt the tears against him.

"I didn't want to make you cry," he said, squeezing her.

"Happy tears," she promised him. "Only ever happy tears with you, John. This is amazing. I hope you haven't spent too much. We promised we wouldn't."

"You're more than worth it," he shrugged. "You can open some of them now, if you like."

"No, I'll wait for your mother," she said. "I don't want her to miss out on anything. But I _will_ take a peek through everything. I feel like a kid again!"

She'd never grown out of it, not really, he knew that, and he hoped she never would. It was something that she could pass on to their children in the future.

"Sounds good to me," he said. "Just do one thing for me, okay?"

"Anything," she said, moving to press a kiss to his mouth.

"Make sure you take it down before Mother wakes," he chuckled.

"You don't want her to know that you're a sentimental sap?" she teased.

"Preferably not. I'd prefer that privilege to be for you and you alone."

"It's a privilege I'll happily take," she said, and kissed him again.

* * *

 _Solstice_

Another year on, another year of change. There had been ups and downs, old relationships breaking and new ones forming, joy and misery abound.

The one constant in that time was the fact that John's relationship with Anna had remained stable and strong, had gone from strength to strength. They'd made the decision to move in with each other six months previously, and it had been the best decision they had ever made. Anna had wanted to move in with him—she'd agreed that it made the most sense, since he had the most space, and there was no logic in looking for a new place together. It had been so much fun, getting things exactly how they wanted them to be, Anna's things infiltrating his space in the most wonderful kind of way. It was so good, seeing a woman's touch around the house once more. Anna's personality, so sunny and upbeat, seemed to lift his house.

And now here they were, another year down the line, still as happy as they had been on that first day.

This year, John wanted it to be even more special. And he had the perfect way of ensuring that.

Robert was hosting an early Christmas party; this year he had thrown himself into the celebrations with greater gusto than normal, for the Crawley family had suffered the most awful shock of all earlier in the year, when they had lost darling Sybil in childbirth.

It had been beyond comprehension, to lose Sybil in such a way. She hadn't been dating her boyfriend, Tom Branson, for very long when she had fallen pregnant, which had been difficult for Robert and Cora to start off with, since they had always expected her to be settled down and married before a child became a factor, not to mention a lot older than her young years. Sybil, however, had been determined to be the best mother she could be, and had gone ahead with the pregnancy despite some scepticism from all sides. Tom, to his credit, had been the model father-to-be. He'd been there for every single tiny moment during the pregnancy.

Now he was going to have to be there for his daughter—Sybbie—for the rest of her life. It was a tough mantle for any young man to take up. John did not envy him. What would he do if he lost Anna in such a heartbreaking way? He would do everything in his power to raise his child well, of course, but from that moment on there would be a hole in his life that he would never be able to replace. Tom was still young, and perhaps in time he would move on, but now that John had tasted real, true love in a way he never had before, he knew that he would never find anyone else. Anna would be his last, the love of his life.

So there was plenty of heartache with the celebrations this year, and although Robert was trying to mask his hurt by going over-the-top with the festivities, John knew that Sybil would want that. She was one of the kindest people he had ever met, the most wonderful goddaughter he could have asked for, and she had never caused anyone a moment's sorrow in her life. She would not want people to mourn her at the happiest time of the year. She would want people to love each other and hold each other that little bit closer.

Which was exactly what he intended to do. If this tragedy had taught him anything, it was that life was short and he had to make every moment count.

And so here they were in the Crawleys' extravagant home, being deafened by the pounding music and squashed in like sardines, for people had flocked from all over to be here tonight, most likely like he had, to show support to the family during this difficult time. If nothing else, the Crawleys were well-loved and well-respected in the larger community.

If he was honest with himself, John _did_ question the sense of such an occasion. Tom and Sybbie would not be present tonight, the idea of a party far too raw for Tom to handle. But Robert's answer to most things was to bury his head in the sand and pretend that they weren't happening; he wasn't the best at showing his emotions. They were products of their time, John supposed. Even he had had trouble getting Robert to open up about how he was feeling, and they had shared more solidarity on the battlefield than actual blood brothers did in their lifetime.

But his opinion was irrelevant. If this was what Robert needed tonight, then this was what he needed, and John was resolved to smiling and pretending that he was enjoying himself. Anna, he knew, would never let him down, and would show her usual grace and sympathy.

Currently, she was out on the dancefloor with Mary, dancing some lively jig he had no hope of recognising. The eldest Crawley daughter was a little worse for wear, having downed several drinks in a short space of time—John suspected that that was her way of coping with the connotations of this evening. She was stumbling around now, holding on to Anna for support, no mean feat since Anna was several inches shorter. She shot him a helpless look over her friend's shoulder and John took the hint. Leaving his glass on the bar, he weaved his way through the throng to Anna's side, where he gently rested his hand against her lower back.

"You okay?" he shouted over the thumping music.

"'M'fine," Mary answered, her words slurred.

"She can hardly stand up," Anna said. "Have you seen Matthew anywhere?"

"I don't need Matthew."

"You're drunk as a lord, and you need someone to look after you," said Anna, fixing her with a look. "Matthew wants to be there for you, Mary. Let him."

"Why do you always have to talk sense," Mary grumbled, swaying heavily as she returned to an upright position. "I know Matthew wants to be here for me. But he doesn't understand. Sybil was _my_ sister."

"Then help him to understand," Anna said softly. "You're so lucky to have a man who wants to support you no matter what. That doesn't happen very often in life. Make the most of it, Mary, please."

" _Fine,"_ May grumbled, sounding none-too-pleased about the concession she was making. "But only because I love you, okay? I wouldn't do it for anyone else. Because I love _you_."

"I love you too," said Anna, giving her a quick hug. "But Matthew is the person you need right now, not me."

"I do love Matthew," Mary mumbled, and stumbled away from them, evidently going to heed her friend's words. Anna watched her go, a pensive frown on her face. John slid his arm around her waist, pulling her closer to his side.

"You okay?" he murmured.

"Yeah," she sighed. "It's just hard to see her like that."

"I know," said John. It was. He was so used to Mary being strong and unflappable, the towering pillar of strength between the three Crawley girls. Edith was frailer and Sybil had always worn her heart on her sleeve, but Mary was the one who had been reliably stoic and unyielding. This version of Mary frightened him, for she was one who was so rarely seen. Even Anna, who had been friends with her for years, was unaccustomed to seeing her like that, and John knew that it worried her that there was nothing she could do to make the situation better.

But hopefully there was something he could do now to take her mind off it, at least for a little while.

"Can you come with me?" he asked, pressing a kiss to her temple.

She cocked her head to the side. "Of course I can. What a silly thing to ask, John. Where did you have in mind?"

"Somewhere a little quieter than this," he said. "There's something we need to talk about."

"Sounds ominous," she commented lightly, slipping her had into his. "You're not going to dump me, are you?"

"Don't tempt me," he teased, wincing when she poked him in the ribs. "Okay, okay, I'm not going to dump you. I think I'd be bloody mad to do something as stupid as that. And I think my mother would disown me rather than you."

Anna giggled, swinging their joined hands slightly as they pushed their way through the crowd. "She's a smart woman."

"Very smart," he agreed. "Do you mind if we go outside? It'll be cold, but we're not going to be out there for very long."

"Sure," she shrugged. "I'm nothing if not curious."

At last, they made it outside. The air was almost painfully cold, but John relished it against his face and in his lungs. It reminded him that he was alive, that there was still so much to live for and look forward to. He took a few steps away from the doorway and turned to face Anna. She was shivering slightly in the cold night air, giving him a quizzical look.

He took a deep breath. This was it. No turning back now.

"I love you," he began.

"I love you too," Anna responded, the perplexed edge tinging her voice now.

"You have made me the happiest man alive over the last two years. I was a fool to fight against what I was feeling for so long. I wasted time that we should have had together."

"Christ, you're not…you're not ill, are you?" said Anna, and there was a real note of panic in her voice now.

John blinked. "What? No, no of course I'm not! Christ!"

"Well, what's with all the talk about wasted time?" she said, twisting her hands together.

Jesus, he was ballsing this up bigtime. Running a hand through his hair, he shook his head, reaching out to pull Anna closer to him.

"It's nothing of the sort, I swear," he said. "I'm as fit as a fiddle, I promise. Well." He glanced ruefully down at the paunch of his stomach. "Maybe not quite. But the point is that there's nothing wrong with me. I'm not saying all this stuff because I'm about to write my last will and testament."

"Then why are you saying it?"

No, no turning back now.

Slowly, very slowly, not taking his eyes away from her, John began to lower himself to his good knee, using his cane as leverage.

Anna's hands flew to her mouth. He saw the flash of understanding across her face, but she did not utter a word. She was going to wait for him to say it. He was sweating beneath the layers of his clothes. With trembling fingers, he fumbled around in his trouser pocket and came into contact with the hard little box that had been burning a hole there for the entire evening. He pulled it out and struggled to prise open the clasp. His hands were shaking so badly that it took him three attempts to do it. All the while, Anna remained motionless, staring, transfixed, at his actions, as if she was watching some kind of alien phenomenon happening right in front of her very eyes.

At last he had the box open, and he held it out in front of him like a shield, ignoring the pain that was screaming through his knee from the odd angle he was holding his right leg out at. His own comfort did not matter right now. The only thing that mattered was Anna's reaction.

Anna's _answer_.

"Anna May Smith," he said, his voice wobbling, "you have made me the happiest man alive over the last two years. Will you make me the happiest man alive for the rest of eternity by agreeing to be my wife?"

"Oh, John," she said. "Yes! A thousand times yes!"

She threw herself down to his level, almost knocking him to the floor. His knee wrenched painfully with the sudden force, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Not then. Not when Anna had agreed to become his wife. She wrapped her arms tight around his neck and brought her mouth to his, kissing him with a fierceness that took his breath away.

She hadn't even looked at the ring yet—she hadn't taken her eyes off him during the whole proposal—so with difficulty John extricated himself and held the little box up between them. At last Anna's gaze dropped to it, and she gasped again.

"Oh, John, it's beautiful," she said reverently.

He was glad she thought so. He had agonised for ages over the kind of ring he ought to buy her. Anna was not the kind of person who liked ostentation. She did not need a rock on her finger for people to notice and comment on. She was much more understated than that—as long as she had the love that she craved, she didn't care about anything else. A ring was a bonus, the physical representation of what was in their hearts, but the invisible bond was the one that was far more important.

With that in mind, John had purchased a ring of sapphires. The stones were small and delicate, beautiful without being overpowering. Blue always reminded John of the colour of Anna's eyes, and the ring had caught his attention immediately as it winked at him from the display case. It was the ring he could envisage Anna wearing, and his heart pounded with a sickening fervour as he eased it out of its box now, ready to make his dream a reality. Anna held out her left hand to him and he grasped it gently, sliding the ring over her ring finger. It was a perfect fit.

There were tears in Anna's eyes as she tested the foreign weight against her finger, rubbing her thumb over the underside of the band.

"It's beautiful," she whispered again.

"It reminded me of you," he told her. "I hope you like it."

"I love it," she told him firmly. "And I love you." She leaned in to kiss him once more, and he rubbed his own thumb over the top of the ring, relishing the new sensation. It was one he'd have the rest of his life to acclimatise to.

"Let's keep this between us, just for tonight," he said when she pulled away from him. "I don't want to steal anyone's thunder tonight, but this felt like the right time to do it."

"Sybil would have been pleased for us," Anna concurred. "She always believed that there should be more love in the world. And I agree with you. We can tell everyone else next week. They don't have to know that it happened tonight. I quite like the idea of it being out little secret for a short while."

John liked the sound of that too. It was so rare for there to be any secrets anywhere—Crawley's was hardly the place for secrets to remain so—and he quite liked the idea of them shooting each other clandestine, significant looks and being the only two people in the world who understood them.

There would be plenty of time for congratulations and revelries later on. For now, they could indulge in their own private celebrations. John clambered back to his feet with great difficulty. His knee was going to give him hell in the morning, but the pain would be more than worth it for the rewards he had just reaped. He extended his hand towards Anna. She took it without hesitation, and he helped pull her back into an upright position.

"I'd better get rid of the evidence," she said sadly, indicating her ring. It was a shame to be losing sight of it so soon, but he knew that it would be replaced as soon as it was safe to do so. He could hardly wait to get home so he could spend the rest of the evening looking at it on her finger before he fell asleep.

She slipped the ring off and he handed the box over to her. She laid it gently inside, then slipped it into her handbag for safekeeping.

And with that they made their way back to the party. There were still drinks to be downed, dancing to be done, food to be eaten, laughter to be shared. There was still plenty for them to love and appreciate at this winter solstice.

Their own winter solstice was much better than either one of them could ever have envisaged.

* * *

 _Cards_

Another year. More happy memories. John Bates and Anna Smith had become Mr. and Mrs. Bates on a cool April's day, surrounded by their closest relatives. Anna's family had been conspicuously absent at the event, a little registry affair in Ripon, but her surrogate family, the Crawleys, had more than made up for it. There had been celebrations galore that day, and his mother had actually cried tears of joy as they recited their wedding vows to each other, for she'd told him that she'd never believed that she'd live to see the day when he was happily married once again.

Unbeknownst to any of them, they had been joined by another guest that day. Less than two months after their marriage, they had discovered that Anna was pregnant. Little Baby Bates had been with them on the day they had declared their love for all the world to hear.

They'd made the decision between them not to find out the sex of the baby. Whilst John would love to know whether they were having a boy or a girl—and he would _love_ a daughter—they'd agreed that it would make it even more special to be surprised on the day. As long as the baby was happy and healthy, it didn't matter what they had. He'd love it if the baby turned out like Anna, though. He was already fantasising about bouncing a little blonde-haired, blue-eyed daughter on his good knee. No doubt he'd be wrapped around her little finger in two seconds flat, because how would he ever find it in himself to say no to his wife's doppelgänger? Conversely, he knew Anna was hoping for a strapping son who favoured his dark looks and pale complexion. Poor bugger was doomed if it turned out like him, that was all John knew. No, it would be far better if it took after its beautiful mother.

Either way, their child would be loved more than words could express, and John could hardly wait for the beginning of January so they could meet their child properly and finally start the life they had always dreamed of together.

Anna had commenced her maternity leave just a few days ago. She had been adamant about working as close to the birth as possible, and even though John hadn't really agreed with it—he would much rather have had her at home, resting—there could be no arguing with her.

It meant that, with the extra time on her hands, she had thrown herself into the coming Christmas season with even greater enthusiasm. She'd decked the house out in every conceivable Christmas decoration, declaring it important to make an effort for Baby's first Christmas—even though it wasn't going to be with them until after it was all over—because it meant they were getting in some valuable practice. He could only imagine what it would be like next year, when their child was almost a year old.

Anna's zeal for the Christmas decorations also meant that John spent an inordinate amount of time worrying about her. She was now in proportion with a small whale—something she bemoaned frequently, because she didn't know how he could love her when she was this size, which was quite ridiculous, really, considering he'd never thought her more beautiful than she was now, carrying their child—but that hadn't stopped her. She was determined to do as much of the work as possible, and he lived in constant fear that he'd return home to find her on the floor. She told him he was being silly, that she was always careful, but it didn't lessen his panic.

Today, he returned home from work a little later than usual, shaking the first snowflakes out of his hair as he closed the door behind him. Bloody weather. He hated that. If it started up properly he wouldn't be able to get into work tomorrow.

Well, on reflection, that wasn't such a bad thing. At least he'd be able to spend the whole day with Anna.

"I'm home!" he called as he kicked off his shoes.

"In the kitchen!" was the distant reply, and he made his way towards her voice, clutching at his prize as he went. He'd made the detour into town for one very special reason, and he couldn't wait to show her.

Anna was standing at the kitchen sink, washing through some pots. Something was bubbling away on the hob. It smelled delicious.

"Hey," she said, turning around when he entered the kitchen. "How was your day?"

"Oh, the usual," he said, crossing the room to her side. "I spent the whole time wishing I could be here with the two of you. I miss you at work."

"You don't need to carry on the charm offensive," she said, brushing her hand pointedly over the large swell of her stomach. "You've done enough of that already."

He smirked at her. Well, that couldn't be argued with. Not that she had ever complained—in fact, most of the time _she_ was the instigator. He couldn't be blamed for everything.

"What about you?" he asked. "I hope you've been taking it easy."

"Scout's honour."

"You were never a scout."

She shrugged. "You've got me there. I hate having idle hands. It's so _boring._ "

"And yet the doctor told you to rest," he teased. "You should be relishing these last couple of weeks. Everything's going to change after this."

Anna rolled her eyes. "That's a man's thinking for you. Everything changed for _me_ nine months ago. I don't have the luxury of everything changing the minute the baby pops out."

"You're very grumpy today," he chuckled, moving to press a kiss against her temple. "Has Baby Bates been giving you some trouble?"

"Let's just say that they didn't want to let me sleep this afternoon. It was like they were kicking a football in there. I definitely think we're having a boy."

"Girls play football too," John pointed out.

"It's mother's intuition."

"What about father's instinct? After all, we're the ones who decide what we're getting."

She poked him in the chest. "Yes, and spent centuries blaming us when girls were born instead of boys. That's men all over for you."

Laughing, John bent down to kiss her properly, holding her as close as her belly would allow. She went to him willingly, tightening her arms around his neck. He didn't care that she was wetting him. He just wanted to hold her and their unborn baby. The two of them were his whole world. He couldn't imagine his life without either of them. That was part of the worry, he supposed. Sybil's death in childbirth had not helped with the anxieties there, and he had had frequent nightmares during the pregnancy about losing her. He hadn't breathed a word of them to Anna, not wanting her to fret about him, and had pretended that most of them stemmed from his fear that he wouldn't be a good enough father. Which he _did_ have fears about, but none of those compared to the thought of losing the most precious person in the world to him.

"I've got something for you," he said softly when they broke apart, scuffing his thumb over her cheek.

Anna wrinkled her nose. "It better not be more gingerbread. If I eat any more of it I'll explode, I think."

"You're the one who keeps craving it," he pointed out. She'd sent him to the twenty-four hour food store all the way in the centre of town just the other night, because she'd tossed and turned for hours and dramatically told him that she wouldn't be able to rest until she had some. She'd proceeded to sit at the kitchen table and eat all twenty of the mini gingerbread men without missing a beat. She hadn't even saved him one as a thank you. "Anyway, no, it's not more gingerbread. Though in hindsight I probably _should_ have stocked up because I don't fancy another trek to the store at four o'clock in the morning!"

Anna stuck her tongue out at him. "What is it, then? As you can see, I'm a very busy woman, Mr. Bates."

"And I wouldn't dream of distracting you, Mrs. Bates," he said, "so perhaps it should wait until later."

"It'll do no such thing!"

He smiled at the indignation in her voice. That was one of the things he loved most about her. She had never lost her childish lust for life, her zest and fervour so inspiring to him. She took pleasure in the smallest little thing, and it was a lesson to himself that he could be a bit more like that.

"All right, all right, calm down," he chuckled. "And don't get too excited. It's only something small." And a bit stupid, really, but he hoped Anna would appreciate it all the same.

No, he knew she would.

"Okay, where is it?" she asked impatiently, holding out her hands. John reached inside his jacket and withdrew it. She frowned at the envelope, evidently confused. He pressed it into her hands.

"What's this?" she asked.

"Open it and find out," he encouraged.

"But you've already bought me a Christmas card…"

Anna's voice tailed off in a gasp as she ripped open the envelope and pulled the contents out. Tears sprang to her eyes.

"Oh my God," she whispered.

It wasn't much, not really. Just a small token. But he hadn't been able to resist the thought of it, and it appeared that Anna was as touched by the gesture as he'd hoped she would be.

Reverently, she traced over the words on the front of the Christmas card he'd chosen: _Merry Christmas to the Best Mummy in the World!_ The card depicted a mother robin wearing a Christmas hat with her baby chick snuggled against her. A Christmas tree sparkled in the background. Her hands were shaking now as she opened the card to read inside. He didn't need to re-read it. The words were already engraved on his heart.

The verse was a simple one. In his own hand he'd written:

 _To Mummy,_

 _I hope you have a very Happy Christmas, and I can't wait to spend so many Christmases with you in the future._

 _Lots and lots of love forever,_

 _Baby Bates_

For a long moment, there was silence. And then Anna burst into tears.

"Oh, Christ," John said, alarmed; that wasn't the reaction he'd been hoping for. He'd expected her to laugh, to sock him in the shoulder and call him a silly beggar. He'd _never_ intended to make her cry. "I'm sorry!"

"What are you apologising for?" she sobbed. "This is the best thing I've ever received in my life!"

"…It is?" he clarified, nonplussed.

"Of course it is, silly beggar!" Ah, there it was. Those two words instantly made him feel so much better. "I can't believe you'd do something so thoughtful for me. I love you so much."

And with that she pressed herself against him again, showering him in kisses. He tasted the salt from her cheeks. Happy tears, he realised. He could feel their baby squirming against them, and he slipped his hand between them so that he could smooth his palm over the huge swell. The baby seemed to recognise and like his touch.

"It's true," he said. "You're going to be a fantastic mother, and our baby is going to adore you. Boy or girl, it's going to be so lucky to have you as a mum."

"And you as a dad," Anna said softly. "This baby is never going to want for anything."

No, it wasn't. They had plenty of love to give and share around. Next year, when the baby was with them properly, it would see that for sure. For now, John held his wife all the tighter and dreamed of a time when they would be all together, the family that he had always longed for but never dared to dream he would have.

* * *

 _Donkey_

Now that they had a family, time seemed to be slipping by at the blink of an eye. John could barely believe that almost two years had passed since he'd first held his son in his arms.

They had a son.

John Daniel Bates had come early, almost on the stroke of the New Year. He'd come into the world screaming at the top of his tiny lungs, and although Anna had almost broken his fingers with the strength of her grip on his hand, it had been worth it to witness the most beautiful, breath-taking sight there was to witness, his son being delivered into the world.

"Told you we were having a boy," Anna had said tiredly in the aftermath, resting her head against his shoulder while the nurses fussed around cleaning and swaddling him.

It was one bet John didn't mind losing.

The one he _had_ been less thrilled about was the choice of name, but he could hardly deny Anna anything, especially since she had done all the hard work for nine months protecting and nurturing him. Her heart had been set on John for a long time, as a way to honour him, and although he didn't believe himself to be worthy of such an honour, he had to admit that it was a proud moment indeed to be told that there was no one in the world his wife wanted to name her son after more because he had all the qualities that a man should have.

Life had been an adventure and a learning curve from there. First nappy changes, first bottles, first birthday, first steps, first words. Each new milestone was something to celebrate, to lock away in his heart for the rest of his life. Their son was growing too fast for his liking.

It wasn't all bad, of course. Their son—Jack, to differentiate him from his father—was getting to the age now where he at least understood a very basic concept of Christmas, and although he probably wouldn't remember anything about this in the years to come, it still made it all the more exciting for his parents. In fact, since having Jack, Anna's passion for the holiday had only increased tenfold. Now John could barely walk an inch in the house without falling over some kind of Christmas paraphernalia.

This year, they had decided that they could take Jack to see his very first Santa. There was one coming to Downton, and it was the perfect time to welcome in the season.

On the morning of the visit, John and Anna rose and showered, feeding Jack and dressing him in his warmest clothes. It was best to get there early, really, so they could get a decent place in the queue. John had never been to something like this before, but he'd heard horror stories about them from Robert. They were always a chaotic mess, filled with crying, impatient children who had been kept waiting for too long, and harassed parents who were having difficulties containing the inevitable temper tantrums. Famously, young Mary had got so tetchy with the poor Santa Claus when he gave her a present that she didn't like that she actually yanked his bloody beard off and scarred all of the children. It had certainly been a novel way for the eldest Crawley child to stop believing.

Christ, John hoped that history didn't repeat itself with their little Bates.

Predictably, the queues were already swelling. Children of all ages were swarming around, swinging from their parents' arms or causing general chaos as they ran around and got underfoot, leaving their exasperated parents yelling in their wake. John shuddered. That was his worst nightmare. His son, thank God, was generally a good lad.

By the time of ten o'clock, and the imminent arrival of Santa arrived, the street was almost filled. The pavement had been cornered off by metal barriers to keep the children from charging out into the road, and those at the back would have a difficult time seeing anything. John was grateful that they'd got here early so that Jack could have the best experience possible.

Anna was currently holding him up in her arms, standing on her tiptoes to give him the best vantage point possible. John had to smile. It was a noble effort, but Anna was so small herself that it barely made any difference.

"Here, let me take him for a bit," John offered. "He'll be able to see better if I hold him."

Anna shot him a reproachful look. "Is that really a good idea?" She was not one to peck at him about his knee—it was one of the reasons that he loved her so very much, that she never questioned his limitations, or gave any indication that she even noticed he had a life-altering debilitation—but by his own admission his knee had been giving him some grief recently. Anna's concern did not come because she thought he was weak, but because she didn't want him hurting himself out of pride.

"I'll be fine," he reassured her with a grin. "Daddy can handle it, can't he?" he addressed his son, who wriggled and laughed.

"Yes, yes!" Jack squealed.

"See? Jack doesn't doubt me."

"I don't doubt you, thank you very much."

"Said in jest," he said, dipping to kiss her cheek. "Now hand him over. You know it makes sense. He'll be able to see over people's heads if I hold him."

"You're so horrible sometimes," she moaned, acquiescing Jack to him. "I'm the mother of your son, and you should show me more respect."

"I respect you greatly." He winked, dipping closer to whisper in her ear. "In fact, I'll show you just how much I respect you when I get you home."

His comment earned him a glare and a slap. Okay, so she wasn't in the mood for public teasing. Smirking, John turned his attention back to Jack, rubbing his nose against his chubby cheek, making him squeal and giggle. The cheeks were one of the few things that Jack had inherited from him; he was Anna's double in every other way. _That_ had been one of the wishes he'd been granted, to have Anna's mirror image beaming back at him. Blond hair and blue eyes, that was what he'd dreamed of. That was what he'd got. He was a lucky man.

"Right, Jack," he said. "Let's wait for Santa coming, eh? He's going to be here any minute. Isn't that exciting?"

"Santa, Santa!" Jack sang. His excitement was endearing.

They waited for a little while longer, and then a cheer rose up from the far side of the barrier. _Santa Claus is Coming to Town_ blared out from the speakers.

"He's here!" John said, but he didn't bother looking at the street. He was entirely transfixed upon his son's face; out of the corner of his eye, he saw Anna doing the same. They would never get this moment back again. It was one to treasure forever.

Jack's eyes had widened to the size of saucers, and he kicked out his legs and squealed in joy. The wonder on his face was glorious to behold.

More cheers rose up like a Mexican wave through the crowd as Santa came nearer and nearer. At this point, John tore his gaze away from his son to have a quick glance himself, and he snorted.

Oh, God.

Santa was dressed in his usual red fat suit, scarlet-faced and heavily whiskered, his half-moon glasses perched on the end of his crooked nose. Instead of his faithful reindeer sidekick, however, he had a donkey.

Well, that was certainly novel. If John associated donkeys with anything, it was the nativity. Were they trying a strange mashup he hadn't heard of before?

Children were yelling and pointing and laughing, as excited as could be. Santa boomed out his traditional _Ho ho ho_ s and waved.

"Santa!" Jack squealed again. "Eeyore!"

"Nearly," John laughed. "That's another donkey, Jack."

Jack didn't seem to hear. He was staring at the little animal, mesmerised.

Santa clambered up on to the raised platform that hid his grotto from view, waving round at the crowd, which was reaching a frenzy. A young woman holding a microphone was nearby, and she handed it over to him so he could speak a few words, which he did, thanking the gathering for coming out to see him on this wet day, and expressing his delight that so many good boys and girls were on his list this year. If they wanted to deliver their Christmas lists to him in person, he would be happy to accommodate them as much as he could, and he would see them all properly on Christmas Eve.

Once the theatrics were over, Santa disappeared inside his grotto, and another long wait began as child after child filtered through the grotto's doors. After a while, John's knee _did_ begin to hurt, and he shifted his weight with a huff, eventually conceding defeat and handing Jack back over to Anna.

At long last, they reached the front of the queue. Anna slid Jack back down to the floor and held tightly on to his hand, encouraging him to toddle in in front of them.

Santa was sitting in his sleigh, surrounded by the presents. He smiled when he saw Jack.

"And who do we have here?" he boomed cheerfully.

Anna eased Jack forward.

"Are you going to introduce yourself?" she whispered to him. Jack popped his thumb into his mouth, a habit they hadn't quite managed to talk him out of just yet. He glanced up at them shyly, as if checking that it was okay. John nodded encouragingly.

"It's okay, son," he said.

Reassured, Jack crept forward and clambered up beside Santa. Gently, he moved him across to his knee.

"So, are you going to give me your name?" he asked.

"Jack Bates," Jack whispered.

"Jack! That's a very nice name."

"Daddy's name."

"Ah, so you're named after your daddy? Well, how lovely! I bet he's very proud."

"I am," said John with a grin, slipping his arm around Anna's waist. "Very proud indeed."

"So, Jack, tell me, have you been a good boy this year?"

Jack nodded, popping his thumb back into his mouth and looking over at his parents for affirmation.

"Well, that's good to know. And what would you like to get for Christmas?"

For a moment, Jack was silent. And then he pointed in the direction of outside and said, "Eeyore!"

Santa chuckled. "You'd like Eeyore? I think that can be arranged."

"Weal Eeyore!" said Jack loudly, still pointing.

Now Santa frowned, looking to John and Anna for clarification. They exchanged a look.

"He likes the donkey," John explained. "I think he's saying he'd like a real donkey." Well, damn. That was kind of a problem. They couldn't really get him a real donkey. Kids were fickle. He probably wouldn't even remember asking for one in a couple of weeks. But even so, there was nothing John hated more than the idea of disappointing his son in any way.

"Well, I can certainly see what I can do, Jack," said Santa. But remember, you have to be a good boy to get presents on Christmas Day. So just keep doing what you're doing, okay?"

"Okay," said Jack.

"And here's a little something for you before Christmas." Santa rummaged around in his sack and withdrew a meticulously wrapped present. Jack took it shyly, then slid off Santa's knee and scurried back over to his parents. He made no attempt to open the gift. Bless him.

"I'll hold this for you," said Anna, easing it out of his hands. "You can open it when you get home, okay?"

Jack nodded, then held up his arms, signalling that he wanted to be carried. John gritted his teeth against the sharp pain in his knee as he bent down to fulfil the request, ignoring the pointed look Anna gave him. He'd deal with the hell that his knee gave him later. Right now his son needed him.

"Thank you very much for your time," Anna said to Santa on the way out. He gave them a smile, then turned his attention to the next child who was peeping in through the curtains.

The blast of cold air on their faces was a relief after the stuffy conditions inside Santa's grotto. John inhaled, relishing the sting on his cheeks.

They moved down the platform, back onto the street. John was busy concentrating on his cane on the cobbles, so he did not immediately take note of the little donkey standing patiently to the side; it was Jack's squeal that drew his attention.

"Eeyore! Eeyore!" he shouted, pointing and wriggling.

Anna and John exchanged glances. Anna tilted her head, indicating that she didn't mind if they went a little closer. They approached the man dressed as an elf who was watching over it.

"Do you mind if my son takes a closer look?" John asked. "He loves donkeys."

The elf shrugged. "Be my guest." He turned to Jack. "Would you like to feed him a carrot?"

Jack nodded eagerly, squirming in John's arms, and John set him down before he could cause himself a mischief. The elf presented Jack with a carrot and herded him over to the donkey, leaving Anna and John lingering in the background. Anna slipped her hand into his, resting her head against his arm.

"He really does love donkeys, huh?" she said. "It makes me feel bad that they don't make pets. He'd love that."

"Yeah, he would," said John, watching as Jack began petting the donkey on the nose with the care and gentleness that belied a rambunctious boy of his age. "But…but maybe there's something we can do."

Anna tilted her head to look at him. "Do you have an idea, Mr. Bates?"

"I might do."

"Handsome and clever. What did I do to deserve you?"

He rolled his eyes at her gentle teasing, drawing her closer to his side. "Very funny. Are you interested in hearing my idea or not?"

"I'm all ears," she murmured.

He laid it out to her. And her eyes lit up.

* * *

Christmas morning came with a flurry of snow and Jack launching himself onto the bed at five o'clock in the morning. Anna huffed and groaned as Jack rolled on top of her.

"Get up, Mummy!" he yelled, bouncing on her. "It Chwistmas!"

Anna mumbled something that sounded very much like, "Bloody hell,", and tried to bury her head under the pillow. Exhausted though he was, John couldn't help smirking. The years might have passed, but Anna's hatred of early mornings had never dissipated. Under other circumstances, she would have scolded him for cursing in front of their son, impressionable as he was at that age.

"Come on, Jack," he said now, reaching out to pull him away from Anna. "Let's give Mummy a few minutes to wake up properly. How about you and I go downstairs first, eh? Then Mummy and Granny can join us in a few minutes."

"Yes!" said Jack, and he wriggled out of his arms and thumped back down to the floor. Without waiting for another second, he thundered out of the room and down the stairs.

"I'll go with him," John murmured and, after pressing a kiss to Anna's hair, he limped out of the room after his son, following him down the stairs.

Jack was already in front of the piles of presents; John could just see his outline in the dark. He moved to flick the Christmas tree lights on, the better to see with.

"Santa been!" Jack squealed, clapping his hands together with glee. "Yook, Daddy!"

"Very nice," said John. Realising that his little hands were itching to tear into the wrapping paper, regardless of who's present it was, he added quickly, "How about we go and see if Santa ate the mince pie you left out for him, eh? And Rudolph's carrot should be gone too."

At the mention of the treats, Jack shot to his feet, stampeding into the kitchen. John followed him at a more sedate pace, leaning against the doorframe as his son clambered up onto a chair to inspect the plate he'd left out the night before. Only a few crumbs remained of the mince pie, the sherry had been supped, and the carrot was safely back in the fridge.

"All gone," Jack announced.

"Santa must have enjoyed it very much," said John, moving to ruffle Jack's thick, blond hair.

There was movement above them—Anna and his mother were getting up. John fixed Jack some juice while they waited, and made cups of tea for the rest of them. At last, Anna appeared in the doorway, tousle-haired and heavy-eyed, but she was smiling.

"Merry Christmas, Jacky," she said, moving to sweep him up into her arms. She pressed a sound kiss against his cheek. "Shall we go and see what Santa got you?"

Jack nodded eagerly, and she took him back through to the living room, John following behind with the tray of drinks.

His mother had taken her place in the armchair, wrapped in her thickest dressing gown. She was frailer than she had been that first Christmas, but the light still shone in her eyes, and she offered them all a beaming smile as they entered.

"Ah, there you are," she said. "Looks like Santa has left you quite the stash, Jack."

Jack nodded his agreement, already turning his attention back to the pile of presents. John and Anna settled themselves down on the sofa, watching as he began to tear the paper off the presents at last.

It took a long time for him to get through everything, and each one was something to treasure. Their son's face simply lit up every time he uncovered something, and he spent minutes at a time running back to show them his new toy, while they pretended to be surprised and excited.

At last, the pile was demolished. Jack sat scrunching the wrapping up paper in his little fists, and John glanced across at Anna. She nodded. It was time.

"Hey, son," said John, sliding off the sofa with a groan. "There's one more present that Santa left with us. Would you like it?"

Jack glanced at him, his eyes glowing. He nodded eagerly.

"Great. You wait here. I'll just go and fetch it."

They'd left it hidden in the back of their wardrobe, and he ferreted it out now. It wasn't much, but he hoped their son would love it.

He took it back downstairs and handed the first part of the present over. Jack looked at the envelope curiously, and John gestured for him to come and sit on his knee. He did so at once, struggling a little to clamber up. John held him there securely, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"Open it," he encouraged.

Jack did so, his little fingers struggling a little with the envelope. Anna leaned across to give him some assistance, but pulled back when it was done so he could retrieve the contents himself. Once it was in his lap, he looked up at them for clarification. John smoothed his hand over his son's thick hair.

"This," he said, "is your Eeyore, son."

It was the only thing they could think of to make their son's Christmas wish come true. Anna had declared it the most amazing idea he'd ever had, which had made him glow—and she'd rewarded him _very_ nicely for his efforts, which made it all the better.

They'd adopted a donkey from the donkey sanctuary in Jack's name.

Jack was holding all the evidence of this in his lap now; pictures of the donkey in question—his name was Eeyore, and it had felt like fate—his story, the adoption certificate.

"My Eeyore?" he clarified.

"Yes, that's right. Your Eeyore. He can't live here because we don't have the room for him, but we can go and visit him, if you'd like, and you can feed him carrots and stroke him. Would you like that?"

"Yes!" Jack yelled; John could tell, just by the look of sheer delight on his face, that this was the best present he'd received. It made his heart swell in his chest. It might not be in the way that Jack would have wanted, but it felt so good to make their son's dreams come true at the most wonderful time of the year.

"And we know that you can't have Eeyore with you at home, so we thought we'd get you a little something to remind you of him," Anna added, reaching for the second part of the gift. "Here you are, my darling."

Jack ripped the paper open, revealing his very own stuffed donkey toy.

"Eeyore!" he squealed. He squeezed the toy tightly in his arms, pressing his chubby cheek against its mane. "Fank you, Mummy and Daddy! And Santa!"

"You're very welcome, love," said Anna, pressing a kiss to his hair. She tilted her head, shooting John a glance, and he felt his heart swell anew.

Yes, this was what Christmas was all about.

* * *

 _Eve_

Another year had passed, and they were in the same position they had been in a few years before.

Anna was pregnant again, fit to bursting with their second child.

It had come as a shock to find out they were expecting another child at the same time of the year as they'd had Jack. Jokingly, Anna said that they had to stop having sex in March if this was going to be the result every time.

Their second baby should already have been with them. The due date had been cited as the twenty-first of December, but so far they were showing no sign of coming. Anna was growing restless, tired and grumpy with the extra weight she was being forced to carry around, but she was making a noticeable effort to be cheerful now that Christmas Eve was here.

"I just hope they hang on until after Boxing Day," she said now. "Oh, God, but what if they end up coming on New Year's Eve too!?"

"That would be the most unfortunate thing," John chuckled. "But what are the odds of that? I'd say astronomically small."

"So were the odds of getting pregnant at the exact same time of the year," Anna pointed out. "You still managed to find a way to do it."

"Let's just hope for a birth after Christmas," said John hastily. It sounded like the best bet. He supposed induced labour would be an option soon enough, too.

Both hopes were shattered at midday on Christmas Eve, when his telephone rang. Picking it up, he answered, "Crawley's, John Bates speaking. How can I help?"

"John, it's me."

"Hey," he said, leaning back in his chair. "Is everything all right?"

Anna's laugh was breathless and terrified. "That depends."

He was instantly concerned. "What do you mean?" His heart pounded in his chest, and his mind immediately began to run through a thousand things that might have gone wrong. Jack had fallen ill, or his mother, or perhaps even Anna herself…

But no.

"My waters have broken," Anna whispered.

" _What?"_

"Can you come home? We need to start getting things sorted. Jack will have to go to your mum's. I'll start packing my things together."

John swore. "Anna, have you been having contractions?"

"Well…" she said bashfully, "I _was_ getting a few twinges last night, but I just put it down to what I'd eaten. I didn't want to worry you."

"You didn't want to worry me when we have an overdue baby? Bloody hell." He ran his fingers through his hair in agitation. "Look, let me speak to Robert. I'll be home as soon as I can. Don't panic, okay?"

"I thought that was supposed to be my line to you," she quipped. "I'm fine. Just get home as soon as you can."

"I will. I love you."

"I love you too, John."

With that, John put the phone down and pushed his chair away from his desk. Ignoring the curious glances he was garnering from the others as he limped out of the room as fast as he could, he headed in the direction of Robert's office. He knocked sharply and, without waiting for assent, he shoved open the door

Robert was sitting behind the desk with his feet up, flicking through some kind of manuscript. He looked up, alarmed.

"Nice to see you hard at work," John said sarcastically, closing the door behind him.

"Hey, these things don't read themselves."

"No, usually you fob them off on someone else."

"Touché." Robert slid his feet back to the floor, throwing the papers aside. "Is there something else you wanted, besides offering me witty repertoire?

John took a deep breath. "Rob, I've got to go home now. I've just had a call from Anna. She's gone into labour."

" _What_? Bloody hell, that's amazing! Congratulations, old boy!"

"Thank you. So I can go?"

"You don't need to ask permission! Of course you can! Get going! Our women need as much support as they can get at this time. Go and be there for her!"

"And here was me thinking Cora gave _you_ all of the moral support during the births of your kids."

"Utter nonsense," Robert blustered, his face going bright red and belying his words. "Now go on, get out before I change my mind."

Rolling his eyes, John did so, grabbing his coat and car keys on the way back. He gathered more intrigued looks but there was no real time to stop and explain.

"Anna's gone into labour," he shouted as he wended his way through the office space. This was met with cheers and whistles from many of the men, and shrieks and coos from the women; he saw Mrs. Hughes actually had tears in her eyes. She was very close to Anna, after all, and she loved Jack dearly. She had been almost as excited as his mother when she'd heard that they were having another baby.

"Good luck, Mr. Bates!" Daisy called.

"Let us know what you have!"

"Send us a picture!"

John flapped his hand in a general gesture of acknowledgement, and hurried out of the building into the fresh air. His heart was thumping painfully hard in his chest. His stomach was doing somersaults. Christ, he felt like he was going to be sick. They'd waited for so long for this moment, and it felt surreal that it was happening now, on such a chaotic day. One thing was certain: the Bates children didn't have the best timing.

John found he didn't care.

He rushed home, driving a little too much over the speed limit, and almost fell out of his car in his eagerness to get inside. He ignored the stabbing pain in his leg as he hurried up the front path and shoved open the door.

"Anna?" he yelled. "Anna, I'm home!"

"Upstairs!" was the breathless shout. He could hear the pain lacing her tone. Shit. Was the baby closer to coming than they'd thought? He took the stairs two at a time, thundering across the landing. He found Anna sitting on the edge of the bed, taking deep breaths and massaging her stomach. Jack was on the bed beside her, looking tearful.

"Mummy's hurt!" he said, his voice wobbling.

"No, darling, I'm fine," she huffed. "I've just got a bit of tummy ache, that's all. You know tummy ache can hurt sometimes."

"Why don't you go and get a toy you can take to Granny's with you?" said John. "I'll look after Mummy. She's going to be fine. There's absolutely nothing to worry about, okay?"

Jack looked torn, but eventually slipped off the bed and ran out of the room. As soon as he was gone, John took the seat next to her, moving his arm around her.

"How are you?" he asked urgently. "Really?"

"I'm okay," she reassured him. "Some of the contractions are pretty nasty, but I can move once they've passed. But I think we need to get Jack to your mum's now so we can get to the hospital. I don't fancy giving birth in the car."

"Yeah, neither do I. I don't fancy playing the midwife."

"I don't think you'd be much good at that. You were a mess during Jack's birth."

"Hey, it was my first time. I didn't know what the hell to expect."

"And you think I did? I've never felt so much pain in my life."

He smiled at the memory, pressing his lips to her temple. "You swore that you'd never have sex with me again, do you remember? And now here we are."

She snorted. "Yeah, well, I came to realise that the end product was worth the pain."

"Oh, definitely." Jack was worth a thousand pains and struggles, the most wonderful thing they had built together. He had never imagined himself as the paternal type, not until he'd met Anna, but now he couldn't imagine a life without children. Jack had changed him in ways he could never articulate, and it had been the most wonderful experience of all. To be someone's hero…that was something he was unaccustomed to. That was something precious. And now Anna was giving him the chance to experience it all over again. He couldn't love her more.

Their tender moment was broken by the reappearance of Jack, who stood in the doorway looking afraid. Anna managed a smile for his benefit, struggling to her feet.

"Everything's fine, my darling, I promise," she said.

"But why do I have to go to Granny's?" he complained. "I want to stay with you!"

"Jack, the baby's coming now," said John. "We need you to go to Granny's so that Mummy can concentrate in getting the baby here safely, okay?"

Jack's eyes widened. "The baby is coming?"

"That's right. You're going to be a big brother very soon."

"I want to stay."

"I'll come and pick you up as soon as the baby is born," John promised. "And we'll go and see them together, okay?"

"Okay," Jack said reluctantly.

"Good boy. I love you. Now, go and get your coat and we'll all go."

Dutifully, Jack left the room again, and John gathered Anna's things together, waiting patiently while she gathered herself. When she gave him a determined nod, they went down the stairs together. John handed the car keys over to Anna to let her go and get herself comfortable in the car while he waited for Jack, and watched her with a beady eye as she travelled slowly down the front path, one hand pressed to her swollen stomach.

Jack appeared moments later, his coat fastened up wrong. John took a moment to set him to rights, then hefted him up into his arms.

"Right, little fella, let's get going," he said.

Balancing Jack and locking the door was a delicate act, but he managed it. He settled Jack in the back of the car and then they began the journey across town to his mother's house. John was determined to make things as normal as possible, so he kept up a flow of inane chatter as they went, allowing Anna to sit there in silence and concentrate on her breathing.

He bundled Jack out of the car when they arrived at his mother's, herding him up the front path. She met him at the door, looking concerned, but managed a bright smile for Jack's sake.

"There you are," she said. "Go'n through and get yourself settled in, hmm? There are some milk and cookies set out for you. You'll like that, won't you?"

"Mummy says I shouldn't eat biscuits before my tea," said Jack.

"I don't think she'll mind this once," said John. "Come here, son. I'll be back for you soon." He bent down and enveloped him in a bear hug, squeezing him tight and kissing his hair. Jack held him back almost as tightly, burying his forehead against him. Then John's mother gently eased him out of the embrace, holding on to his hand.

"Let your daddy go now," she said. "He needs to go to your mummy. Go and eat your biscuits."

Jack hesitated for a moment longer, but evidently the pull of having a sweet treat before his tea was too great to resist. As soon as he was gone, his mother lowered her voice.

"Let me know how things go," she said.

"I'll call you as soon as there's any news. Look, I really should go now. Anna's contractions have started."

"Then what are you waiting for? Get gone. Jack's in fine hands. Wish Anna luck for me."

"I will. Thanks, Mother." John bent in and pressed a kiss against her cheek before turning on his heel and hurrying back the way he'd come.

"Did he get off okay?" Anna asked as he slid back into the car.

"He's fine. He got distracted by biscuits."

Anna huffed out a painful laugh. "Bates men and their food."

The rest of the journey to the hospital was made in almost complete silence. John drummed his fingers nervously against the steering wheel as he weaved in and out of the traffic, trying to concentrate on the soft sound of the radio in order to drown out the panic that was simmering just beneath the surface. Despite his calm exterior, inside he was terrified. In moments like these, when his wife was about to go through the most arduous of jobs, it was difficult to know what to do with himself. He'd had the easiest part of the ride, and there was nothing he could do now but sit on the side-lines and try to encourage her as best he could. And if it was like last time, half of it wouldn't even be wanted.

He found an empty space and pulled the car into it, fumbling it into neutral as he turned towards her.

"Do you think you can walk inside?" he asked. "Should I fetch a wheelchair?"

"Bloody hell, no," she said. "I'll manage."

Together, they made their way slowly inside, John keeping his left arm reassuringly around her waist, ready to steady her if she needed it. At last they made it inside, and thankfully the nursing staff took over. John was happy to relinquish some of that responsibility. His palms had gone quite sweaty.

They were in the final stretch now, and John couldn't wait for his family of three to be extended by one.

* * *

By ten o'clock that evening, Anna had been discharged from hospital. At this time of the year there was always the greatest need for the beds, and since she could walk, she had been told to go home. John wasn't exactly happy about it—he would have preferred her to have stayed in overnight under supervision, just to make sure that everything was okay, but Anna had jumped at the chance to be home by Christmas Day. He couldn't argue with that, especially not after the gift she had just given him.

His mother's cul-de-sac was in darkness when they pulled in to it. Their baby, just a few hours old, was swaddled tightly in the blankets they'd been provided with, sound asleep. It was amazing to think that the air had been filled with screams just a few minutes ago; it was miraculous how quickly a baby called fall asleep.

Very slowly, to ensure that she didn't jostle the baby too much, Anna slid out of the car and waited for John to join her. Together, they made their way up to his mother's front door. John had called ahead to let her know that they were coming, and he had barely rapped on it once before the hallway was flooded with light and she was there in front of them. There were tears in her eyes as she stopped short, staring at the sight in front of her.

"Oh my God," she said, her wizened hand shaking as she reached out, stopping just short of actually touching her newest grandchild. "I can't believe it. It's a little miracle. You never told me what you'd had, Johnny. Can you tell me now? Do I have another grandson, or a granddaughter?"

John and Anna exchanged glances, and John couldn't stop the broad smile from stretching across his face. It still felt surreal to him, even though he'd had a few hours to get used to the notion.

"You are Granny again to a wonderful little granddaughter," he said.

His mother clapped her hands together, the tears spilling now. "A granddaughter? Oh, Johnny!" She swooped in on him, almost knocking him sideways as she hugged him with a fierceness that belied her age and frailty. "Can I see the little bairn?"

"Of course you can," said Anna, turning so that the little pink face was visible beneath the swathes of blankets.

"Oh, she's beautiful," his mother breathed, stroking over the chubby little cheek with a forefinger. Anna had joked that the Bates cheeks ran strong in his DNA, and he was inclined to agree; there could be no mistaking where those had been inherited from. Much as he hated them on himself, he found that he didn't mind that both of his kids had them; they only made them both cuter.

"Where's Jack?" he asked now.

"Oh, he's asleep. He went to bed because he was frightened that Santa wouldn't come to him if he was still awake. I don't think he'll be best pleased if you wake him."

"We'll just have to tell him that Santa understands that there are uncontrollable circumstances which he's not going to hold against him," said John. "I'll sort everything out when we get home and he's asleep again. Actually, I'm surprised he didn't kick up more of a fuss about it."

His mother shrugged. "He was worried about Anna. I don't think Santa was on his mind that much at first."

"Bless him," said Anna. "Anyway, we should probably wake him."

His mother nodded her agreement. "Yes, we probably should. But before we do, do I at least get to know my granddaughter's name?"

Anna laughed, exchanging a look with John. "Oh, yes, of course."

"We had a few names in mind," said John, "but there was really only one we could go with at this time of the year, and on this day."

"Eve," Anna grinned. "It's fitting."

"It's a _lovely_ name," said his mother.

"Eve Anna Bates. We thought so too," said John. He was almost unable to tear his gaze away from his daughter. Christ, a daughter. He'd dreamed of one for so long.

"And I see you sneaked 'Anna' in there," his mother laughed.

Anna groaned. "Don't remind me of it. He's got an unfair advantage because I'm just too tired to argue with him right now."

"It's revenge," said John. "She named poor Jack after me, remember?"

Anna rolled her eyes. "And speaking of our son, we'd better get him home before it gets too much later."

"I'll go and fetch him," said his mother, and they traipsed over the threshold together, shutting out the cold night air. His mother ascended the staircase to wake Jack, and John moved closer to Anna's side, peering down at little Eve, who had not stirred at all since falling asleep.

Whatever they might have hoped for in regards to her birth, there was only one thing John could think now:

Eve was the greatest gift he had ever received for Christmas.

* * *

 _Family_

The crash rang out throughout the house, jolting John awake. For a few seconds he was paralysed, lost somewhere in a frightening past where he had crawled through mud and blood just to survive.

And then he came back to his surroundings; he was lying in his own bed, beside Anna, safe and warm in the dark.

Beside him, Anna stirred, fighting to free herself from the sheets.

"What the hell was that?" she slurred.

"I have no idea," said John, springing into action. "Stay here."

"No," she said at once, falling out of bed too.

"Anna, if there's someone downstairs—"

"I'm not leaving you to face them alone!"

"I've had army training. I'll be fine. I would much rather you go and check on the kids, keep them safe."

She couldn't argue against that. With a huff, she slipped out of the room, and John made his way downstairs, trying to keep his tread light so as to not alert the would-be-burglars.

As he reached the bottom of the stairs, however, he heard Anna call behind him, "John, the kids aren't in bed."

And that solved the mystery. There could only be one group responsible for the crash. Heart returning to a normal speed, John made his way into the living room.

It looked as if a bomb had hit it.

The tree was over on its side. Baubles had rolled in every direction, or had been crushed and broken. The star had flown several feet and was now lying against the wall. The lights were holding on for dear life.

Situated round it, frantically trying to scoop up fallen baubles, were the Bates children. John leaned against the doorframe.

"What on earth is going on here?" he boomed.

They jumped a mile, turning around frantically.

Jack, the elected leader because of his age, scrambled to his feet, drawing himself to his full height as he pushed his thick blond hair out of his eyes. Behind him Eve and Lily fixed him with pleading stares, as if they knew that he couldn't be cross with them if they looked helpless enough. Which was true. When it came to his children, John Bates was a big softie. It often fell to Anna to be the strict disciplinarian, because one look at his children's sad little faces usually had him melting.

"Dora knocked the tree over," Jack explained with a pained expression. "We tried to catch it but we didn't, so it fell over. We're trying to put it back together again."

"And not having much success, by the look of it," said John. "Here, let me help." In one swift movement he'd picked the tree up ad righted it. It looked rather sad now, squashed and battered as it was. "Were you encouraging Dora to be naughty?"

"No!" said Lily, her would-be-innocent voice giving the truth away. Their youngest daughter was so precious to them. Five years younger than Jack, she was the spitting image of him, blonde-haired and blue-eyed as she was. It was Eve, their beautiful middle child, who looked most like her father. John found that despite his disillusion with himself, he was proud of the fact that people could look at her and instantly know that she was his child.

"Where's Dora now?" he asked.

"Hiding behind the sofa," Eve said helpfully. "She was scared when the tree fell on top of her."

"I can imagine," said John. "Why don't you check that she's okay while I put this back together, hmm?"

Eve nodded, and scurried behind the sofa, where she fished out the cowering ball of fur that was their family kitten. He and Anna had agreed that it would be nice for the kids to have a pet, and that a cat suited their needs best because they were less work than a dog and still interesting enough for the kids to remain engaged. Little Dora, so named for the witch in the book series that Jack was currently enjoying, was a little black mass of teeth and claws, and utterly adorable to boot. John had never really seen himself as an animal person—he'd never had a pet growing up, and certainly hadn't had one in adulthood—but the kitten had captured his heart in ways that he couldn't articulate. For the first time, he could understand how Robert got so attached to his dogs. She had fit in with the family wonderfully, not seeming to have a favourite, which helped massively when it came to avoiding arguments between the kids.

Eve stroked her little head now as John tried to set the tree back to rights.

"Is Mummy gonna be mad?" Lily asked, reaching down to pick an errant bauble up.

"She might be," came Anna's voice from the doorway. "What on earth is going on here? Have we been hit by a nuclear bomb?"

All three kids jumped at her unexpected arrival, exchanging horrified glances. With John, they knew that they could probably get away with murder. With Anna, however, things were a different story.

She ventured into the room, lips pursed as she surveyed the damage. Jack launched into another explanation of how Dora had dived halfway up the tree and in their attempts to get her out, they had somehow managed to knock the tree down, thus waking the entire household.

"I see," said Anna neutrally, giving nothing away.

"Are you mad at us?" Lily asked tentatively.

Anna's lips twitched. "Well, I certainly wasn't envisaging being woken like that on Christmas morning. It gave me quite the fright."

"We're sorry," Jack offered. "We didn't mean to wake you. We just wanted to see if Santa had been and left us any presents. We were playing with Dora because we didn't want to wake you too early."

"You ought to know by now that playing with Dora near the Christmas tree is going to have disastrous consequences," said Anna. "But never mind that now. I can see that Santa _has_ been for you."

She exchanged a secret smile with John as the children nodded excitedly.

"Does that mean we get to open them now?" Eve asked.

"Let's wait until Granny gets downstairs, and then you can," said John. "In the meantime, why don't you help me make some tea and toast? She'd like a slice of that for when she comes down, and I'm sure Mummy would too."

"I would," Anna agreed. "I'll stay here and keep an eye on Dora, make sure she doesn't run up the tree again."

The kids nodded and piled out of the living room in front of him. John followed at a more leisurely pace.

They set about making the tea and toast together, John directing as the kids ran about, eager to be helpful in any way in order to get back into the living room and the promise of their presents. In no time at all they had constructed a mountain of toast—slightly charred around the edges because John had taken his eyes off it for a moment in order to stop the tea from being spilled all across the table, something that would have been sure to earn him a cross word from Anna should it have happened.

By the time they got back to the living room, Anna was sitting scratching Dora idly behind the ears, and his mother had finally made her way downstairs. She was approaching her eightieth birthday now, and was getting a little frailer than John had ever known her to be before, but she was still smiling. Still overjoyed to be surrounded by her grandchildren. Still feeling blessed that she had been granted the privilege of getting to know each one. She'd told him time and time again that she'd never thought she'd get even one, so having three was like a dream come true. She spoiled them rotten at Christmas, and nothing could stop her.

"There you are," she said. "We were wondering where you'd all got to, weren't we, Anna?"

"We were," she agreed, smiling. "But I didn't think you'd be far away. You all love Christmas too much for that, don't you?"

There was a chorus of agreement from the kids, and they clamoured around her to let her know that Santa had been and had eaten all the treats they'd left out for him. Anna pretended to be surprised by this development, and John bustled around handing out tea and toast and trying not to let his grin give him away.

Food and drink distributed, they finally settled down to watch the children open their presents. Breakfast was soon abandoned by the three of them, who were much more interested in finding out what lay beneath the enticing, brightly coloured wrapping paper. Dora, who had been on the verge of dozing off, instantly perked up, and amused herself by diving headlong into the torn wrapping, shredding it further. Shouts of glee and surprise rang out as all three kids jostled for attention, showing off the gifts that Santa had left them.

John glanced around at his family, those dearest to his heart. Jack was inspecting his new football kit, all the more excited when he realised that his name was printed on the back. Eve and Lily, who were comparing their new dolls. His mother had tears in her eyes as she soaked it all in. Dora was still rolling about on the floor, purring loudly.

And then he glanced at Anna, who offered him a sidelong grin as she slid her hand into his. He squeezed it back, shifting just a little closer to her side.

Yes, this was what the spirit of Christmas was all about:

Family.

* * *

Almost as soon as the day celebrating all things spooky had passed, there was an eruption of gaudy monikers heralding the imminent arrival of the most anticipated holiday of the year. Shops were quick to throw up the ostentatious decorations, garish Christmas trees and over-the-top centrepieces. Christmas music blared out from every doorway that he passed on his walk down the high street at dinner, the same twenty songs on repeat, and he hummed them as he passed. TV advert after TV advert advertised Christmas presents and Christmas food and Christmas cheer. It was wonderful to see. Best of all, his children adored the season, and nothing touched his heart more than hearing their happy chatter about the upcoming festivities. Once November came, they didn't want to talk about anything else, and he was fine with that.

Yes, if there was one thing John loved, it was the passing of Halloween.


End file.
